Little Bird's Vengeance
by KatHarkness-Katara
Summary: Why is life never simple? Red Robin's ended up worlds away from home once again, and now what's he to do? What do the Avengers want from him; do SHIELD have another agenda; and is there any way back? No slash. Rated for inevitable language/violent themes.
1. Chapter 1: A Pretty Little Cage

**AN: Welcome to my new crossover. It's set between the film/movie Avengers and Iron Man 3. (You can interpret it as AU to IM3 if you want, but I'm trying not to rule it out.) The DC parts are from just prior to Flashpoint and the New 52 reboot. The only difference is that Red Robin's using his new costume, because I happen to think it's completely awesome.**

**Little Bird's Vengeance Chapter 1 A Pretty Little Cage**

Red Robin came round slowly, his head throbbing. He was lying on his side on a hard-ish surface, the temperature cool, but not uncomfortable, the air a little stale, but fresh enough. Cracking open his eyes, he saw a large, white, well-lit chamber, and he was lying on a bench against a glass wall. The wall opposite was also glass, and through it he could see a tall bald black-skinned man with an eye patch and long black coat watching him. A quick glance around showed no obvious way out, and a camera in the corner. He sat up, swinging his bare feet onto the floor. A swift check showed he'd been stripped of belts, wing harness, gloves and boots. Luckily, his mask was still in place over his eyes.

"So. You're awake," the man said. Red Robin said nothing; schooling his face into the emotionless mask the criminal side of Gotham knew to fear, and the hero population knew to respect. He wasn't giving anything away until he knew where he was, who'd locked him up and what had hit him in the first place. "Who are you?" One-Eye said.

"Where am I?" Red Robin asked straight back. He was slightly worried by the almost unnoticeable tremor in his own voice, and hoped the other guy wouldn't pick up on it. He tried running through his mental inventory of criminal geniuses to work out who could have a cell like this, and matching it with One-Eye over there. Nothing seemed to fit. It was very unnerving.

"You're in SHIELD's highest security cell," the guy said. "Built to withstand more concussive force than a warhead. We're currently several thousand kilometres over the Atlantic Ocean and this button here," he gestured to a set of controls next to him, "will release the magnetic bolts and drop you. In other words, you can't get out, and don't try."

A quick once-over seemed to confirm it, but a more thorough examination would be in order later. Usually that kind of reaction to him came from people who knew his reputation. People who would already know who he was…

Red Robin cocked his head slightly. "What's SHIELD?"

"Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division," he was told. One-Eye seemed concerned, or maybe just curious, that he hadn't already heard of it. "Where are you from?"

He stared at the floor, assessing. From the officious name and the American accent, these people worked for the US government. He didn't know of that organization; and it was impossible they were merely hidden (there was no way that Oracle could have missed something big enough to have a flying fortress over the Atlantic). Therefore, something had gone wrong, possibly with the teleport. Horribly wrong. That meant he was in danger. It also meant these people were not necessarily his friends. Until he knew more, he couldn't trust them. He'd have to keep his secrets. Well, that would be a new experience. Not. "Far from here," he told One-Eye. Choosing to dispense with his usual subtly in favour of expediency (and hopefully an informative reaction), he posed his own request. "Tell me more about SHIELD."

His single eye narrowed. This ignorance was suspicious, it seemed. "SHIELD was created to protect the Earth from extra-dimensional assaults, and other abnormal incidents. We also manage the team known as the Avengers. I am Director Nicholas Fury; I'm in charge here. You blew through our defences and materialized unconscious in one of the most sensitive areas in our operations. We took you into custody, where you will remain until we verify you are not a danger. It is therefore in your interests to co-operate."

Red Robin stood, flowing forward with all the grace, balance and skill he'd learnt from Shiva, Batman, Nightwing, Black Bat. "If you're asking if I'm dangerous," he murmured, "then yes, I am. If you're asking if I'm a threat, well," he smiled, showing his teeth, "do I have a reason to be?"

The somewhat predatory behaviour may not been the wisest short-term plan, but too much had gone into building his reputation over the years. He would not submit simply because he was imprisoned. He would distribute the information they required of him in his own time, thank you very much. Of course, what the right time would be he had no idea, especially since he couldn't remember anything between stepping onto the teleport in Titans Tower to go to the Watchtower, and waking up here moments before. He'd need to think about it.

Fury seemed to be tensing, wary despite the glass barrier. "And what would you consider reason to be a threat?"

"The big ones would be if you were planning to kill me, force me into quasi-military activity against my will, start a dictatorship, or engage in certain criminal activities. That enough for you?"

Fury held his gaze for a moment. "You're asking me to trust your word. Why should I trust you? You still haven't said who you are, where you're from or how you came to materialize in the Avengers' Headquarters."

"Why should _I_ trust _you_?" He stepped forwards again, reaching out and resting both palms against the glass, deliberately projecting the look of a caged animal. "I wake up in your very pretty cage, you spout off a load about some people I've never heard of and tell me you can kill me with the press of a button. Why. Should. I. Trust. _You_?"

"What choice do you have?" Fury said, then turned and left.

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The next morning (was it morning? Red Robin couldn't tell. About a day since he'd come round in the cage anyway), he was feeling the strain. He hadn't eaten for nearly two days; the case he'd been working too intense to allow more than the odd snack before he wrapped it up and headed off to update Batman (who'd been on monitor duty). The SHIELD people, while probably willing to feed him, seemed to be waiting for him to ask. A relatively subtle power play, making him acknowledge his current dependence on them without actually harming him.

He also desperately needed the bathroom, but was very carefully not thinking about it.

It wouldn't be hard to ask someone. Apart from the camera, there had been people watching him on and off. A dark-haired woman, who'd just stood there looking at him for an hour or so before leaving. He'd met her gaze the whole time, sat on his bench with his knees by his chin. There were no words between them, none were needed. She was telling him they would watch him until he broke, he that he could wait it out. And later, when he'd tried to get a full night's sleep (for once), he'd woken after a few hours at the quiet footfalls of a red-haired woman and dirty blond man, an assassin and archer respectively, judging by their builds, their weapons, and their movements. The assassin had asked him what he was doing, he'd told her he was trying to sleep, turned over, and forced himself to drift off again. They'd been gone by the time he woke again. Other than those times, he'd felt a vague uneasiness, as though he was being watched, although he couldn't see who by. But as the lights focused on him, it was not surprising he couldn't tell for certain who was in the shadows.

It would be easy to play by their rules, but Red Robin didn't know if he should. He wasn't prepared to surrender to the inevitable until he knew what to say, and despite hours of thinking, too much failed to add up. He needed some way past the weaknesses of the flesh, and a long, uninterrupted thinking period.

The answer came easily. His brothers could not do this; Nightwing was too impulsively active, Red Hood too impatient, Robin too inexperienced. But he was good at this. He crossed to the centre of the cell, sat down in the lotus position, and started to control his breathing. He set up mental triggers, in case anyone entered his cell, and a time lapse- three days should be sufficient. Wondering what SHIELD would make of his solution, he sank into a meditative trance, and closed his mind to the world.

**AN2: Now, I know it seems to be going a bit slow, but it'll pick up soon enough. Please review. If you have any questions, drop me a PM or leave a review. And please follow/favourite it. I intend to update next week. See you then.**

**Katara**


	2. Chapter 2: What You Know, What I Know

**AN: Welcome back. Before we start, I want to make one thing clear: regardless of anything Marvel may, or may not, be planning, ... Coulson looked pretty dead to me. He will not be turning up, except possibly as a memory in the Marvelites' speech and/or thoughts. I know this will disappoint some of you, but that's the way it's going to be. Sorry. I hope you like my alternative.**

**Little Bird's Vengeance Chapter 2 What You Know, What I Know**

The boy had been treated for numerous minor or old injuries. In the course of this, he'd been sedated and undergone a full medical examination. As he'd been unconscious before, it was unlikely he'd realize how long he'd been asleep. Or how much they knew about him.

Maria Hill watched him on the screen, sitting motionless in the cell, chest hardly moving as he breathed as little as humanly possible. A readout next the camera feed showed rate of respiration; worryingly low. If his trance wasn't apparently self-induced, they'd have called it a coma by now. As it was, the medics insisted that if he didn't come out of it in another day or so, they take him down to medical and hook him up to an IV and some monitors. After all, it had been nearly four days at least since he'd had any form of hydration or nutrition. They didn't want to actually starve him.

Various reports scrolled over other screens. The medical report, the incident report when he appeared, the tech lab's report on his equipment. Even his clothing was riddled with a sophisticated system to give a sharp electric shock to anyone trying to remove it. When they'd finally found the catches to disarm it, they'd also found it to be made of Kevlar and some other substances they couldn't as yet identify. The belts, boots and gloves seemed full of little gadgets and gizmos. They were still trying to get into most of the storage compartments.

They hadn't been able to find the switch on his mask.

A small sound called her attention back to the camera. The boy was starting to breathe deeper. Hill touched her comm unit. "Barton. Romanov. He's coming out of it."

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Red Robin's chest felt tight as he slowly started breathing deeper. His warning triggers hadn't been activated, so he took his time, slowly increasing his heart rate and breathing. He could feel his muscles cramping, locked in position for three days. Carefully wiggling his fingers and toes, blood circulation picked up again. When his functions had returned to normal, he opened his eyes.

It looked like nothing had changed, not that he'd expected it would have. The same barren cell sitting in the spotlights, the control panel to drop it just in sight. Coming up to it, out of the shadows, he could see a rough outline, that resolved itself into the archer he'd seen previously.

"What were you doing?" Archer asked.

"I needed to think," Red Robin replied dully. He started stretching, working the cramp out of his limbs.

"What about?"

"What I should tell you when you start asking questions again." Although his inclination had been to keep silent, he'd concluded that would get him nowhere- figuratively and literally. Running the hints he'd got from Fury through his mind, along with comparing it with everything he'd experienced, knew of or had heard about, he'd eventually reasoned this wasn't his planet Earth. He still didn't trust this SHIELD, but had decided he could tell them as much as he would tell the media back home. Anything else, he could play by ear.

The archer was waiting for something, and after a moment, the assassin woman he'd been with before appeared next to him. She was carrying a large bottle of water, a flask and a Tupperware box. "You must be hungry," she said. "Stand back."

He withdrew slightly, and the door opened. The archer had an arrow on the string, ready to fly, as the assassin moved in, setting down the containers before stepping out and closing the door again. Red Robin picked them up and retreated back to the bench.

"We weren't sure if you had any dietary requirements," the assassin said.

"It's fine," Red told her, taking a swig of water and opening the flask.

The woman pulled out a chair and sat down opposite him. "I'm Agent Romanov, this is Agent Barton."

"Red Robin," he replied, sipping the soup they'd given him.

"That's a codename," Romanov said.

"_My_ codename," he answered.

"How old are you?"

"Seventeen."

"Are you completely human? Do you have any powers or abilities that would qualify you as more than human?"

"A meta? No."

"Meta?" Barton asked.

"Metahuman. That's what we call it where I come from. I'm not one." He took another draft of soup. "But you already know that."

"Why do you say that?" Romanov asked.

"Because I have three cracked ribs, and someone re-wrapped them while I was out. You almost certainly took DNA samples at the same time, and you've had long enough to analyse them." He drank again. "Although I'm curious. Did you get any matches?"

"You can tell your ribs were re-wrapped?" Romanov said, surprised.

"I use a different method. But that tells me you already know a fair bit about me. And now I know a fair bit about you."

"What does it tell you about us?"

He finished the soup and leaned forward. "It tells me that despite your hard-line act, you actually care about your prisoners' wellbeing. That you have some pretty sharp tech guys working for you. But I reckon I'm better. And you know that whatever I do with my life, it's pretty dangerous, that I feel the need to arm and defend myself stringently. That I'm protective of my secrets. And I can tell it bothers you."

"Why do you think you're better than our tech guys?"

"You didn't get my mask off." _'Or find my emergency batarang.'_ "And don't bother asking how I know you didn't. I know the feel of it after it's been reapplied."

The two agents exchanged glances. His appetite sated, Red Robin left the contents of the box alone- eating too much after a five-day fast would only make him sick. And the agents would start asking him questions he couldn't answer any moment now.

"Where are you from?" There it was.

"I can't tell you. I haven't a clue where I am now, you see."

"You're aboard SHIELD's helicarrier."

"That means nothing to me. I'd never heard of SHIELD until your Director Fury told me a little about it."

"What country are you from?" Barton demanded.

"United States of America."

"And you've never heard of SHIELD?"

"No. Judging by your clear disbelief, I think it's a fair bet I'm from a different America." Barton and Romanov exchanged worried glances. Some history there? He continued hurriedly, hoping to distract them until he had a little more information about where he'd ended up. "But I don't know enough about where I am now to work out how far I am from where I was then."

"Where were you then?" Romanov asked.

"San Francisco, teleporting to, uh…" He thought about it, trying to work out where the Watchtower would have been orbiting at the time. "Somewhere over the East Coast, I think."

"Somewhere over the East Coast?"

"It's a satellite, and it's not in geosynchronous orbit. I'd have to work out exactly where it was at the time."

"You were teleporting from San Francisco to a satellite?" Romanov seemed to find that little fact a bit hard to swallow.

"We're in a helicarrier, whatever that is, a long way above the Atlantic," he pointed out. "The difference is?"

"A helicarrier is a flying aircraft carrier," Barton said. "We don't have teleports."

"Mixture of a couple of different techs," he shrugged. "Thanagarian Nth metal transistors, Rannian Zeta-beam transmission system, power cells from Apokaliptian Boom Tubes, it's fairly complicated."

"Sounds it. How do you make one of those things?"

"From scratch? Not sure. Depends what you've got."

"Barton," Romanov snapped. "Red Robin, are you claiming to be from a different dimension?"

"I don't know," he said, almost biting the words in frustration. "Different dimension, alternate reality, parallel universe, I can't tell without some research."

"Have you ever faced an extra-dimensional assault?" she asked.

"A few times. We won, but…" he saw Conner beaten at the hands of the other-world Superboy, Bruce's clone buried as he was lost in the past, memorial services for others he hadn't been close to, "it cost us. More than I like to think about."

"Then you understand why we can't just trust you?"

"I wouldn't expect anything else," he replied mildly. He stretched again. "Any chance of bathroom break?"

**AN2: You have read this; what did you think of it? Don't be shy, there's that nice little button just over there that says "Post Review". Why not use it? If anything I've said has worried you, confused you, or otherwise made you question my sanity, I will do my best to answer any and all questions sent my way via review or PM. I'm afraid ranting at the screen won't get you any answers. But you're all such pleasant, intelligent people, I'm sure you wouldn't do a thing like that, right?**

**Hmm, note to self, might have to try harder to come up with new ways to ask for feedback...**

**Sorry. Being silly. But I hope you enjoyed it. If you did, why not check out some of my other works?**

**Back next week with more. See you then.**

**Katara**


	3. Chapter 3: Fighters

**Little Bird's Vengeance Part 3 Fighters**

Steve Rogers was looking forward to meeting the mysterious little intruder. While he'd been at Tony's when the kid appeared in the living room and promptly collapsed, most of what he knew about Red Robin was from what Natasha and Clint had told him.

And that hadn't been much; the boy was not very good at sharing. He'd spent a lot of time asking about the world, the most powerful countries, the governments, who was at war with who. In exchange, he'd told them he was from a city called Gotham in New Jersey, probably somewhere near where Atlantic City was on their own planet. He'd told them he was a crime fighter, and had been for eight years. His definition of crime fighter came out as sort of like vigilante, only with a set of principles and a working relationship with the police. He'd explained how he worked with a large number of metahumans, who called themselves (and the media also called) superheroes. He was junior partner to another non-meta crime fighter, and co-led a team called the Teen Titans. He'd been going from the Titans' base in San Francisco to the Watchtower, the satellite base of a group called the Justice League (who sounded basically the same as the Avengers), to report to his boss. Instead, he'd ended up in Stark Tower, unconscious.

Steve stepped through the door to the prison chamber designed for the Hulk, rebuilt after Loki dropped Thor in the cage. They didn't think Red Robin was enough of a threat to merit the highest security cell, not now that they'd talked to him, but they had decided against moving the boy. He was taking imprisonment quite well, had even said that he'd feel a little insulted if they didn't consider him enough of a threat to lock up. But Natasha also said it was hard to tell when he was joking, and when he was being serious.

Right now, the kid was sitting back on the bench, his leg up and reading a newspaper. He'd already looked up, hearing the footsteps, and started folding the paper. "Hey," he said. "Have I seen you before?" He stood up, tossing the paper onto a small pile of others.

"I was there when you appeared in our world," Steve replied.

Red Robin cocked his head, pursing his lips. "Captain America?" he asked.

"How do you know?"

"Aside from how you just confirmed it?" He smirked. "I appeared in the Avengers' Headquarters. Therefore, you are most likely one of the Avengers. The Avengers are Iron Man, aka Tony Stark, who is _not_ you; Thor the Norse God, who I'm guessing would have a Scandinavian accent, or at least his hammer; Hulk, the mutated form of Bruce Banner, who I doubt has special forces muscles; Black Widow and Hawkeye, who I think are Agents Romanov and Barton; and Captain America, the world's first super-soldier, a relic of the Second World War; and you seem to prefer a rather old fashioned style of dress. No offence."

Steve just stared at him. "How old are you again?"

The kid was _still_ smirking. "Age hasn't got anything to do with it. I figured out one of the best kept secrets in the world when I was eight."

"Oh yeah?" Kid had dropped his guard at last; excellent. "What was that secret?"

Red Robin looked at him. "I can't tell you, it's a secret," he said slowly. "Besides, it wouldn't mean anything to you. You're not very good at interrogation, are you?"

"I just want to talk," Steve told him. He pulled out the chair that usually stood just to the side of the door, and sat down.

The boy folded into the lotus position right in front of him. "What did you want to talk about?" he asked.

"You're a crime fighter?" He nodded. "What does that mean?"

"I fight crime. Is that a difficult concept?"

"Could you be a bit more specific? What does the average night of crime fighting consist of?"

"There is no average night. There are quiet nights, planned nights and busy night. A quiet night will just be six to eight hours on patrol, or until you call it a night, generally involve stopping a couple of muggings, maybe a carjacking or two, a break-and-entering. Small stuff, street crime. Generally no injuries, unless you're clumsy, or unlucky."

"Is that often?" The fact that he was even mentioning injuries was…worrying.

He shrugged. "Not any more, not really. Not for me anyway, unless I've been really busy. I'm told I have a tendency to overwork. That probably doesn't help. Planned nights normally involve stakeout and a raid, sometimes over several nights. Those are really low risk, because we get to pick our moment just right. That way, when we jump in, it's over quick and clean. Sometimes they don't even have time to draw their weapons. We'd generally do one of those if we get word of a smuggling ring, or drug dealing, or something like that. Busy nights usually involve an Arkham escapee." He grimaced.

"What's Arkham?"

"The Arkham Institute for the Criminally Insane. It's where the crazies go. And then break out again. Most dangerous revolving door in the country. Seriously mad place. The most dangerous inmates have cells waiting every time they escape. That's when we really pick up injuries. And get poisoned. Or drugged. Pretty much anything, really."

"Drugged and poisoned? You're kidding." He was joking, the kid had to be joking…

"I wish. I have moderate immunity to practically every common poison, limited immunity to half a dozen rarer things we get frequent exposure to, and resistance to far too many painkillers. And truth drugs, so I know the agents have been lacing my food. Tell them not to bother."

"They're drugging your food?"

"It's actually a very good idea. It just doesn't work very well on me." Red Robin shook his head. "You really are naïve, aren't you? Real boy scout."

"I have ideals. Is that a problem?"

He chuckled. "No. You remind me of a friend. He never really understood Gotham either. We - those of us defending Gotham - can't afford ideals, just principles. Gotham's got the highest crime rate in the country. It's been over fifteen years, and there's still a long, long way to go."

"Why do you keep going, then? If you're getting hurt, getting poisoned and drugged, and you're not making any progress, then what keeps you going?"

"Well, for one thing, we have more nights where next to nothing happens than bad nights. Usually no more than a couple of bruises over the course of a week." He looked up from where his masked eyes had been burning a hole in the floor. "And everything makes a difference. A life saved. A future mob boss stopped as a two-bit thug. A murderer locked up before he strikes again. I can't stop just because it's hard. I can make a difference, and I can't ignore that. I've spent nearly half my life doing this. It's too late for me to stop."

"Is that why your gear's so sophisticated?" Steve asked. "The report used words I've never seen before."

"Yup. Lots of gadgets and tools to get the job done, armour to keep me alive, you know."

"And that mask? Why did they let you keep it?"

Red Robin smirked. "Watch." He lifted a finger, and pressed it against the bridge of his nose. Immediately a spark flew out and shocked his finger. He grimaced and sucked the burnt finger. "Safety measure. They couldn't find the disarm switch."

"Isn't that dangerous?"

"Not for me. My gloves are insulated, and anyone who has any business taking it off me knows how. And the consequences of my identity getting out would not be pleasant."

Steve thought of Tony, perfectly happy with the whole world knowing he was flying around as Iron Man. Natasha and Clint didn't care; they were SHIELD agents anyway. Bruce had his…issues which kind of prevented any sort of double life. And Thor was, well, Thor. They didn't seem to suffer from only having the one side to show the world. "Why?" he asked the kid.

"I have a lot of enemies. If they knew who I was, they'd know how to find me. How to hurt me." Steve started to interrupt, to tell him that was sheer paranoia, but he cut him off. "Believe me. I've been through it once already." He sighed deeply. "And there're other reasons, but they're not mine to share."

"But your city doesn't even exist. What have you to fear now?"

The boy rose gracefully, and turned his back. "What have I to fear, Captain? My home _doesn't exist_. _I_ most likely don't exist. I'm stranded far from home with no friends and no way back." He turned around again, the mask now in his hand and his clear sky-blue eyes staring back. "What have I to not fear?"

Steve could hear in the back of his mind the plaintive cries refugees displaced by the Nazi onslaught, but at the same time startlingly different. This boy was as determined to make a difference as he himself had been, and was being pushed so far. "Don't worry, Red Robin," he said. "I'll talk to some people; see if we can find a way for you to go home."

Red Robin nodded. "Thank you." He took a deep, steadying breath, and was about to speak again when a siren went off.

"Intruder alert," Steve interpreted, jumping up and pushing the chair away. "Sorry, but…"

"You need to help see 'em off." The kid smiled wryly. "Go."

Steve turned and started to run for the bridge, picking up his shield from beside the cell chamber door. Poor kid would have to wait.

**AN: Wooh, new Avenger. And an attack. Speeding up a bit now, yes?**

**Oh, and I know Tim may seem a little OOC at the end there, but he has been locked up for about a week, and fed truth drugs, so I think it's reasonable that he's a little bit OOC. Yes? No?**

**Any feedback will be greatly appreciated. Likewise, if you have any questions, any little thing about this that are nagging you, feel free to ask in a review or PM.**

**One other thing: I know I recommended this story to the readers of my on-going Bat-piece Wayne's Boys. If you haven't read it, may I recommend it to you? It's mostly focused on the interactions between the younger Bats as they go through normal Gotham life. _Family Ties_ is set in the "present", and _Flashback_ is the collective backstory. One or other of them is updated every week, generally just before I update this one.**

**That's all for now, folks. See you next week.**

**Katara**


	4. Chapter 4: Fight Club

**Little Bird's Vengeance Chapter 4 Fight Club**

Captain America strode onto the helicarrier's bridge, still pulling on his gloves, hood around his neck. "What happened?" he asked.

"Robots," Fury told him. "Someone's hijacked the remaining Hammer Tech drones, and they're wreaking havoc. We can't tell what they're after. Go help disable them."

"Sir," Cap nodded. "What about the boy? He's a sitting duck."

"The drones can't get into the cell."

"They can drop it."

After a moment, both soldiers looked over at the screen. Red Robin had replaced the mask and was now pacing restlessly, constantly looking everywhere and worrying his lip.

"Sir, if he's hostile, I'll take him and drag him back there myself," Cap said. "But you don't think so either. We should give him a chance."

Slowly, Fury nodded. He reached out and hit the button to open the cell door. "Done. Now get fighting, soldier."

Cap saluted, and left.

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Red Robin fell into a defensive crouch when the door opened. He watched the shadows, waited for whoever-it-was to appear. After a minute, he stood, and carefully went forward. No-one stopped him as he left the cell. Alarms were still blaring, but no-one seemed to be paying him any attention. It appeared he'd been released.

The helicarrier...thing was still under attack. He reached into a concealed pouch on his thigh and pulled out an emergency batarang. The extra red polymer layer on the uniform leg looked like decoration, but hid a slim compartment in the layers. He balanced the batarang between his fingers, readying it to be thrown. He padded down the corridors, bare feet making little noise against the cold hard metal floors and memorizing the route he'd taken. A tracker pulled from another compartment automatically honed in on his missing equipment. Luckily, it was on the same level; he won't have to find an elevator or anything.

The fighting hadn't reached the sections he was creeping through, and any soldiers had already left. He followed the corridor, taking occasional forks as he honed in on his target. Eventually he found a door promisingly labelled "Main Technology Lab". Briefly contemplating bluffing his way in, he instead carefully opened the door half an inch at a time, watching both the corridor and the lab.

Three men in white coats and safety glasses were gathered around one of the workbenches, poking at the wing harness and talking over each other. The other pieces of confiscated equipment lay neglected around the room. Keeping beneath the benches, Red Robin skittered over to the nearest worktable and snatched his gloves off the top. Still out of sight, he pulled them on, checking the compartments, each with its own electrocuting security system. The lock picks and blowpipe with darts were apparently undisturbed.

He readied the pipe and three tranquilizer tipped darts, aiming at the techs and preparing to drop them all as quickly as possible. He whispered an apology inside his head, and blew.

When they were all unconscious, Red Robin examined his belts. The forensic and first aid kits, always low-security, were strewn across a bench. He scooped up the various analysis tools, bandages and neatly labelled samples from his last case, packing them up and clasping the belt back around his waist. It seemed nothing else had been opened, so he continued pulling on his boots, and the belts on his upper arms, then turned to the wing harness.

The techs had managed to detach three of the 'feathers'. Grumbling, he pulled out the repair kit concealed in the straps and fixed the strips back in place. He didn't have time for a thorough fix- he'd just have to piece it back together and give it a tune up later.

Before leaving, he peeled his mask off again. The glue was wearing thin; and he didn't want it falling off. He got out the stick of special glue, smeared it over the back of the polymer strip, and carefully stuck it back over his eyes, flicking the tiny switch to arm the electric system.

Whatever was attacking, there was no reason to believe they wouldn't eventually reach this level. The room with the cell was more defensible. He quickly retraced his steps, then melted into the shadows that had plagued his nerves for the past week. He waited, either for the action to find him or the alarms to turn off. He ran through his equipment, checking everything was still in place, and snapped out his staff in readiness.

He didn't have too long to wait. A trio of robots crashed in. Red Robin tossed out a small grenade, which exploded on the first's chest. He twisted, skidding across the floor and knocked down another. He flipped up, but the explosive hadn't taken down the first, and the second was getting up again. The third lashed out at him; he sprang backwards.

It continued for some minutes, until one furious blow smashed the control panel for the cell. There was a furious hiss, as the hatch beneath the cell ground open. Red Robin gasped, the air thinning. The cell groaned and fell, leaving a large opening behind, just as another grenade caught the first robot and it fell away.

Red Robin fumbled for the breath mask in his belt, breathing freely as it supplied fresh air. Another four robots appeared in the doorway. _'What am I doing here? Not like I know who's in the right_. _This isn't my fight,'_ he thought, tucking away his staff and trying to disengage.

One of the robots caught him with a massive blow to the chest, and he fell backwards, falling out of the helicarrier.

**AN: Yep, stuff really happening now. Please leave me a review. If you have questions, feel free to drop a PM or ask in a review.**

**I'm afraid I won't be updating next week. Please don't lynch me! Y'see, a number of my loyal readers, including a number of you, have been waiting for some months for an update for my other crossover work Black and Red. So next week, I'll be updating that instead. Hope you don't mind.**

**So...see you week after next.**


	5. Chapter 5: Memories of Loss

**Little Bird's Vengeance Chapter 5 Memories of Loss**

"So, what happens with the kid?"

Tony sipped his whiskey. Usually Pepper insisted on waiting until after dinner before breaking out the booze, but Steve needed a drink after he, Tasha and Clint returned from the helicarrier. Of course, Steve didn't get drunk (although Thor had offered to get him some Asgardian mead to see if that could intoxicate him), but still got a little kick from spirits. And something was depressing him…

"We don't know." Steve took another draught of schnapps. "By the time we finished, there was no sign of him."

"He escaped?" Bruce Banner said. "Can't you check the security feed, see where he went?"

"The system got smashed," Clint told him, rifling through his quiver to pick out the arrows in need of repair- which happened to be most of them.

"Steve convinced Fury to let him out, but we lost the camera just as he entered the Main Tech Lab." Tasha clarified. "We found the tech guys unconscious and his equipment missing."

"How were these tech guys attacked?" Thor asked, swigging bourbon direct from the bottle. Why was Thor drinking bourbon? Tony shrugged inwardly and dismissed it. Probably liked the picture on the bottle or something.

"Some sort of dart," Steve said. "Tipped with sedative."

"You didn't tell us he had darts," Tony said accusingly. "You said he had a load of high-tech stuff. Darts, pretty low-tech."

"Well, remember we said Fury wanted you to come up and have a look at the gear?" Clint said. "That's because we couldn't _get at_ any of it. We only managed to unlock a few of the storage compartments."

"Why did you wait so long before asking me anyway?"

"Tony, last time you were on the helicarrier, you hacked the computer," Steve reminded him. "Fury doesn't trust you."

"You went poking around in the cargo hold."

"I also have a reputation for following orders, in general."

"Apart from that time you went into the Italian base despite being told not to. And the whole poking-around-in-the-cargo-hold thing."

"I'm a soldier. I obey my commanding officer. Maybe not without question, but Fury respects that."

"You also have a way of getting on people's nerves," Bruce interjected. Tony turned to him, outraged, and Bruce continued. "I wanted to hear what happened to the kid, but you seem to want to talk about Fury not trusting you." He turned to Tasha. "You said that you last saw him going into the lab? Where could he have gone from there?"

"We searched thoroughly while looking for the drones," she said. "There was no sign of him anywhere."

"Then where?"

"The cell was dropped. If he was there at the time, he…" She looked down at her remaining half-shot of vodka. "He most likely didn't survive."

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The death of a child is always a tragedy. The death of this child was no less despite the lack of familiarity. He had been a fighter, a soldier, a warrior, and every warrior faced their enemies one final time. But to die in a conflict you should never have had a part in, against an enemy you had no reason to offend…

For Steve, it was like the reports he'd heard, of people conquered by the Nazi regime. For Tony, it was like the patrol that had been killed when he was captured. For Thor, it was like the people of the small town in New Mexico that was smashed when Loki sent the guardian. For Tasha, it was like the innocents she'd been hired to kill. For Bruce, it was like the people left homeless when he "broke" Harlem. For Clint, it was like the people he'd killed while in Loki's thrall. One death reminding them of many others.

It was a quiet evening in Avengers' Tower.

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Once again, they were sitting with drinks, waiting for the three members of their team still on SHIELD's good side to return. Eventually, the Quinjet descended, and landed in the hanger originally intended for a helicopter. No-one bothered to get up as Steve, Tasha and Clint entered and sat down.

"We didn't find him," Steve said. "We found the cell, but it was empty. No body."

"So, either the…body, got swept away, or he survived?" Bruce asked.

"There was a Hammer Tech drone on the sea floor," Tasha answered. "Part of the chest had been exploded. Fury ordered an analysis, but the shrapnel pattern doesn't seem to match anything we use."

"The kid did it? That's what you're thinking?" Tony jumped in.

"It's not that outlandish a proposal," she replied. "You didn't see him, talk to him. He could fight. He could take a lot thrown at him. He had survived adverse conditions before."

"You think he may still live?" Thor queried.

"I hope so," Steve replied. "I don't think we'll see him again, but until we have a body, I want to think so."

"You have great respect for this mortal child," Thor noted. "But you are still concerned for him?"

"He's a refugee," Steve explained. "He's got nowhere to go, no-one to turn to, a head full of secrets that mean nothing but he still has to guard, and a profession that can only get him killed. He needs help, and we're the only ones who can give it."

"Not sure how willing he'd be to admit it," Clint said. "He's definitely independent. He went into a three-day trance to avoid asking us for basic necessities, remember? He might accept help, but on his terms."

"Yeah, he's brave and strong-willed, but he's still just a boy," Steve responded.

"A boy who has, apparently, been risking his life fighting criminals for eight years," Tasha said. "The medical report confirmed scars about that old."

"He sounds like a warrior," Thor said. "It would have been a pleasure to meet him."

"Well, isn't there an Underworld on your World Tree?" Bruce asked. "You could always look there."

"You don't think he survived?" Pepper asked quietly.

"I…want him to have, but I just don't see how. He wasn't Thor, he didn't have a Big Guy to take care of him, his blood wasn't full of serum, he was just a normal human." He shrugged. "How could he survive?"

No-one countered him; he was speaking the truth. Red Robin had no hidden advantages. It would be a miracle if he'd survived.

"Sirs." They looked up at the voice of Jarvis. "An unidentified object is approaching from the air."

Steve, Tasha and Clint picked up their weapons. Thor pulled his hammer from his belt. Tony called out "Deploy"; his armour zoomed out and honed in on the locator bracelets. Bruce pulled Pepper back, restraining the beast within.

Five Avengers burst onto the balcony as a small, black-and-red form glided down and landed in a crouch. It straightened up, taking stock of the crowd he'd landed in front of. "Woah, guys, stand down. It's only me," said Red Robin.

**AN: Did I scare you? Did you think I'd actually killed him? C'mon, I wouldn't do that...**

**Would I?**

***insert smiley face***

**I'd say sorry for making you wait so long, but I'm not really _that_ sorry. I enjoyed getting back to Black and Red. To those of you who flicked over to look at it, which I presume is at least some of you lovely readers, I hope you enjoyed it. I am also working on a longer, continuing fic entitled Wayne's Boys (I have mentioned it before, I believe), which is currently split into Family Ties and Flashback. I would be thrilled if you read it; this week I'm starting a five-chapter miniseries in Flashback featuring our favourite aerialist. Also, I have a number of shorts and one-shots hanging around my page. I love getting feedback on anything I write, so don't feel shy about checking them out.**

**Yeah, er, please review, if you want to ask me a question, anything at all, drop a PM or ask in a review. Don't get shy, I don't bite. Except, you know, food.**

**See you next week.**

**Katara Harkness.**


	6. Chapter 6: Rail Trip

**Little Bird's Vengeance Chapter 6 Rail Trip**

The wind whipped past Red Robin's head as he fell. He spread his limbs to slow as much as possible, but avoided snapping out his wings until he was a little lower. Twisting his head, he tried to find the nearest coast. Luckily, the mask protected his eyes. Eventually he saw land.

As he kept falling, he judged the distance still to go, then flared the wings. Immediately he felt a strain on his right shoulder, where the hastily-repaired damage had left the rig unbalanced. He angled, aiming for shore and hoping he didn't end up in the ocean for too long. This form of transport was designed more for roof-hopping than long distance flight.

As it turned out, he only had to swim the last hundred metres or so. He came ashore on a piece of deserted coastline, and quickly orientated himself. The sun was sinking, so not only did he have a general sense of direction, he also knew his internal clock was maybe eight hours out. Not surprising, considering the time he'd been in the cell with little frame of reference. His best bet was to reach a city, and work out his next move from there.

After some time walking inland, he found a railroad track. Changing direction, he followed it, knowing he'd reach a station eventually. With the growing darkness, he was safe from passing eyes. He kept listening; a train could save him hours. Or squash him.

It did not take too long for his hope to be rewarded. When the train came past, he jumped onto the roof of it, held tightly and tried to concentrate on staying awake. His suit was saturated with seawater, sapping his strength and chilling him. His recent forced inactivity hadn't been terribly restful, and he could feel the stress weakening his grip. He focused on keeping his hold, and considered his next actions.

From what he'd gleaned from the papers Barton and Romanov had given him, his best bet for getting home would be using Stark tech. Stark's public business was based in New York. The conflict was that he couldn't get to Stark's technology without alerting the Avengers (of whom Stark _was_ one), and thus SHIELD. Whether or not that would be a good thing, he didn't know. He needed to do a little research to find out just what SHIELD was in the eyes of the world.

He'd get off when the train stopped at a major station, find out where he was, and find a library. Hopefully, he'd be only one train journey from New York.

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Red Robin ended up spending the day in Philadelphia. It wasn't safe to travel on the outside of a train in daylight, and the timing just didn't work out in his favour. After being up nearly to dawn reading online news sites, checking maps and timetables, he found a nice, cosy, condemned apartment block to shelter in. He curled up in a corner and promptly fell asleep.

When he woke, it was starting to get dark already. It could be said it was advantageous that it was wintertime; shorter days meant more hours of darkness, and a longer period for Red Robin to move freely. _'On the other hand,'_ he thought wryly, _'It also means my suit's still wet. Yuck.'_ He shivered, running a hand through his hair, and noted a build-up of salt and grime. Yup, he _definitely_ needed a nice, warm shower. Preferably before his compromised immune system let him catch flu.

As he made his way over the roofs to the train station, checking the time against his (updated) mental clock to make sure he didn't miss the train to New York, he reviewed the data he'd gathered the previous night.

The Avengers were, in general, wildly popular among the general public, and somewhat less so among the government. Not too dissimilar to the Justice League, who frequently went through rough patches in their political standing. But the Bats were almost never popular with anyone; so Red Robin didn't care much about that. Much more interesting were the rumours flying about SHIELD.

As far as the media were concerned, SHIELD was a government defence initiative that supported the Avengers. A little further digging revealed that they'd been around a lot longer, and that they had international concerns. He'd tried hacking the Pentagon, but the computer in the library wasn't powerful enough to be time-efficient.

What he knew of the Avengers, from interacting with Romanov, Barton and Captain America, reading the newspapers and his research, indicated he could trust them- well, sort of trust them. Trust them to help him, and not try to kill him on sight at least.

Besides, it's not like he had anywhere else to go, especially if he did get sick.

He flattened himself to the roof of the train carriage. He'd had plenty of practice riding the outside of trains when he had to journey between Bludhaven and Gotham whenever he got called to deal with an emergency in one city while he was in the other.

It was usually a little easier. In addition to a freezing wind-chill factor, his shoulder was still aching from his unbalanced wing-rig yanking the joint when he fell. And it had been a week and a half since he'd eaten something not laced with sodium pentothal. And he was _definitely_ feeling a bit off_. _Add the stress of being marooned on another Earth…

He really did need help.

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When he reached New York, he zipped off the train before it stopped, swinging up to the rooftops. He didn't know New York too well, but he'd memorised maps of pretty much every city in America, and there were only a few differences. Stark Tower, nicknamed Avengers' Tower, would be fairly easy to find. Especially from the air.

Once he reached the higher skyscrapers, he snapped out his wings and glided. His shoulder felt like it was on fire; he suppressed the ache using several techniques he'd learnt over the years to keep fighting in the middle of a punch up. Eventually, he saw the Tower, with the specialized landing platform for Iron Man, and the single letter A lit up on the side. He glided down to the platform and landed in a crouch, gently dispersing the force of the impact.

Instantly, he found himself looking at an arrow on string, two handguns, repulsor gauntlets, a red-white-and-blue shield and a large hammer all pointed menacingly at him. For a fraction of a second, he wondered if he could take them all. _'Bad plan,'_ he reminded himself, and straightened up, holding out his empty hands. "Woah, guys, stand down," he said aloud. "It's me."

**AN: So now we're up to speed with what Red's been doing after his little tumble. I hope no-one's desperately disappointed he didn't drown. If you are, I hope you get over it.**

**Next week, I'll be updating Black and Red again. If you're not reading it, then I'm afraid you will have to wait a bit longer, but why not go check it out? And I will be continuing the Wayne's Boys series, again in Flashback both this week and next week. Again, why not give it a go?**

**As always, please review. If you have any questions, feel free to ask in a PM or a review.**

**Katara**


	7. Chapter 7: Preliminary Interrogation

**Little Bird's Vengeance Chapter 7 Preliminary Interrogation**

It was impossible to tell what Red Robin was thinking. There were a few clues in his posture; a slight slump to his shoulders, a little strain on his face. He was worn out, but doing his best to avoid showing it. It would fool almost anyone.

Natasha Romanov was not 'almost anyone'. But despite years of training and experience, she still couldn't get a clear read on him. He was very carefully controlling exactly what emotion he showed, and only giving the impressions he wanted to.

Right now, he was projecting an image of vulnerability and helplessness, but in such a way so as to not _seem_ in need. Just enough to give a subliminal impression, to play on his audience's sympathies without them being aware. It was certainly working on Steve, Tony, Pepper and Bruce.

That kid was _very_ dangerous.

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"So, your name's Red Robin?" Pepper asked him. "I'm guessing that wasn't your parents' idea."

"No, not really," he said, half-smiling. "It's like Iron Man, or Captain America. Not on my birth certificate, but still my name."

The Tower's landing pad led into a comfortable lounge, complete with well-stocked drinks bar. Tony Stark had tried to ply him with whiskey, and when that failed, attempted to make his coffee Irish. It was very disconcerting, for no other reason than because he'd been schooled into believing billionaire heroes _faked_ the playboy lifestyle. Once he'd convinced Tony he did _not_ want anything stronger, the other Avengers, and the Stark Industries CEO Pepper Potts, had swarmed in around him; not in a hostile way, but their curiosity taking over. More like a social function than a street fight. Pepper in particular seemed like an outsider looking in, trying to understand the nuances of the world she was attached to, but with little frame of reference.

"Why 'Red Robin'?"

"Now that's a long story, and involves referencing things that would mean absolutely nothing. Suffice to say, it suits me."

"Hey, kid!" Tony called. "How do those wing things work?"

"They're a very delicate, very sensitive piece of engineering that should not be pulled to pieces by people who don't know what they're doing."

Red Robin found himself glaring at Romanov and Barton, needing to consciously avoid massaging his hurt shoulder, and quickly reigned in the aggression. It probably wasn't their fault, and the belligerence was messing his emotional projection. It was easier to work on the others, anyway; Steve, the soldier, who wanted to shield the world; remorseful Bruce, who seemed trying to be atone for his mistakes without even realising it; naïve Pepper, who'd lose that innocence after an attempted hit or two; and the over-bearing rich kid industrialist Tony, who seemed to be thinking of him as…a new toy?

"C'mon, you gotta give me more."

Tony could get annoying after a while, it seemed. Red Robin rolled his eyes. "Maybe we can go over the basic principles behind them later." He turned to Thor and changed the subject. "Are you really a Norse god?"

"I know not of this Norse, but yes, I am a god," Thor replied.

Red Robin shrugged. "That's cool," he said.

"You don't have a problem with that?" Captain Rogers asked from where he sat on one of the leather couches.

He shrugged, thinking of Cassie Sandmark, known as Wonder Girl, a daughter of Zeus. "I've known weirder."

"You mortals have such interesting concepts," Thor commented.

Red Robin's mind flashed back to a sky full of planets, a pair of hands reaching out to crush one, to mash two together. He shuddered slightly. "Trust me on that."

"Sounds like you've seen a lot," Barton commented.

"Fair bit. Not as much as some." He shrugged, a mischievous smile coming to his lips. "I mean, I hardly ever go off-world." Let 'em chew on that.

"Go off-world?!"

"_Hardly ever?!"_

Yeah, that caught their attention. Carefully distributing information would keep them far too off-guard to properly interrogate him. Then he could get access to their technology, start running tests to find out if anything had changed, and hopefully find a way home. All it required was a little manipulation.

"Earth's always been a big enough concern for me," he explained. "My talents don't really lie in extra-terrestrial work."

"Sirs," came a voice out of nowhere. "Your dinner order has arrived."

At the first syllable, Red Robin was on his feet, snapping out his staff and looking around for the new arrival. He couldn't see anyone; but what was that voice?

"Jumpy, aren't you?" Tony laughed. "That's Jarvis, the computer system."

Red Robin relaxed and stashed his staff away. "In my experience, people sneaking up on me usually try to kill me." He took in the slightly revolted expressions of the room's other occupants. "But a talking computer system? I can take that."

"That's…good," Pepper said. "You like Chinese?"

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Bruce didn't know why he was surprised Red Robin knew how to use chopsticks- or that, like Tasha and Clint, used them like he also knew how to kill someone with them. At the same time, he didn't seem like the kind _to_ kill (he seemed too nice, too friendly, too gentle for that)- just capable of it.

Tony was cooing over him as if he was a new piece of tech, and Pepper was showing signs of wanting to mother him (kid looked like he needed it). Steve had the look in his eye that said he wanted to save something- someone- from danger, and was therefore keeping his shield with him just in case.

Clint and Tasha didn't seem to be buying it. But then, that was their job.

Bruce just felt sorry for him; Red Robin was independent and capable, but now needed help, and SHIELD had stuck him in the cell they'd made to contain the 'Big Guy'. But at least, despite Clint's misgivings, he'd found the best people to help him.

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It was close to three in the morning. Red Robin had finally gotten away from the Avengers and their questioning- not interrogating, just insatiable curiosity- and been given a guest bedroom. It was pure bliss to ease off his grimy uniform (Pepper had promised to dry-clean his shirt and pants overnight) and step into the warm shower he'd been imagining for days. He stayed in long after he was clean, just enjoying the warmth.

When he finally got out and started drying off, he could hear a slight scuffling in the room. Wrapping a towel around his waist and grabbing another for his hair, he cautiously stepped back into the bedroom.

To see Tony holding his wing harness and looking like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"Uh, Pepper sent me to get your stuff?" he said, slightly guiltily, but also clearly more upset about being caught than repentant over snooping.

"Did she. Did she give you specific items to retrieve, _not_ including my wings, by any chance?" Red asked him, glaring- not quite like the Bat, but only a few notches down.

"Oh, maybe, uh…" Tony was fidgeting slightly. "You know, your eyes are really blue," he said.

"Thank you," Red Robin replied shortly, glancing at the mask left on the bedside table. "Please leave those alone."

"You know, earlier you said something about people pulling them to pieces. You mean something by that? Or do you just not trust me? I'm hurt."

"Yes, actually there was something." Red Robin picked up his belt and slid the medical kit out of one of the larger pockets. "The SHIELD guys partially dismantled it. I didn't have time for a thorough re-tune, so they nearly dislocated my shoulder." He pulled out a length of bandage and started wrapping the strained joint.

"You didn't say anything," Tony half-accused, frowning.

Red Robin shrugged. "It's no big deal, just irritating. But leave the wings be, okay?"

"Sure, fine, yeah," Tony said dismissively, and now he was sneaking sidelong glances at Red Robin's torso, probably disturbed by the scars littering his body. Red Robin glared at him, until he backed off. "Uh, we should talk. Tomorrow. About the wings and stuff. Yeah, you should sleep now. Um. See you in the morning." He grabbed the clothes Pepper had sent him for and scarpered.

Red Robin sighed. He was bone-tired, but at least his ribs weren't hurting anymore. He pulled his boxers back on, discarding the towel, and crawled into bed. Hopefully he'd feel better in the morning. Hopefully he hadn't caught a cold from the past day and a half (yeah, right). Hopefully he'd be able to deflect most of Tony's questions tomorrow.

His last thought, before drifting off, was full of longing for his own world, and the place in it he'd made his own.

The door opened, and Red Robin woke instantly. His mental clock told him he'd only had two hours sleep, it now being about five in the morning. His sharp ears identified two sets of footsteps, one stopping just over the threshold, the other approaching the bed. He matched the sounds with his archived memories, and inched one hand under the pillow, out of sight.

When the intruder was practically on top of him, he opened his eyes, whipped out the concealed can of sedative Bat-spray, and gassed the person.

Blinking, he confirmed the intruders' identities. Natasha Romanov was unconscious on the floor next to the bed, and an astounded Clint Barton was watching from the doorway.

"What is it about you lot not letting a guy sleep?"

**AN: Ever had that feeling where it seems nothing's giving you a break? Reckon poor Red's halfway there yet? Ah, well. If you like this, please tell me! If you didn't, if you think I can do something better, well, go ahead and let me know. (Relying on me to read your mind doesn't work too well. Sorry.) If you're confused, think I've left something out and are too embarrassed to say so in the public realm of reviews, feel free to PM me and give me a piece of your mind.**

**Other than that, my other on-going works are still on-going, and my finished pieces are waiting to be discovered. Feel like reading something new? Don't be shy, give 'em a go.**

**See you next week for more lost Little Bird.**

**Katara**


	8. Chapter 8: Making Deals

**Little Bird's Vengeance Chapter 8 Making Deals**

Clint stared at the teenager. Despite being, apparently, fast asleep, he'd swung into instant alertness and just knocked out Tasha with some kind of unknown gas, and was now glaring at him.

"What is it about you lot not letting a guy sleep?" Red Robin asked, propping himself up in bed. He seemed very put out to be woken up less than three hours after going to bed.

"Uh…" Clint stuttered. "Fury wants you back in SHIELD custody."

"It couldn't wait until I'm awake?" His glare stepped up, coldly furious. Clint restrained himself from stepping back.

"He wanted it sooner rather than later. And we thought, well, if you were asleep…"

"I'd be easier to catch hold of." Red Robin massaged his brow. "Look, how about I promise to stay where you can watch over me, you let me sleep, and Fury can come here if he wants to talk to me?"

Clint looked hard at the kid. He was slumped slightly, worn out. His eyes were a little bloodshot and puffy, his voice somewhat nasal, as though…he was suffering from a head cold. He was sick. Clint suddenly realised why Red had defied his expectations and come to them rather than remaining solo. The kid was going to be fairly out of it for a few days, and if he was willing to co-operate during that time...He'd have to check with the Director. He could use Red's idea as an interim solution. "Jarvis," he said at last. "Tell me when the kid leaves the room."

"Yes, sir," Jarvis said. Red nodded agreeably.

"Fine by me," he said. "Romanov should wake in about two, maybe three hours."

Clint went further into the room and picked up Tasha. He could see just how tense Red was, how wary he looked. Poor kid seemed exhausted.

Considering what he'd been through, it wasn't that surprising.

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When Red Robin next awoke, it was nearing noon. He still felt pretty woozy, and his nose felt blocked. He staggered to the bathroom, grapping his mask and one of his arm-belts as he went. He looked in the mirror and, sure enough, his eyes were red and puffy. He sighed. He'd been catching colds more frequently since losing his spleen, and after the past few days had been half-expecting it, but it was still frustrating to have to go through it all again.

"Oh, great," he muttered, frowning at his reflection.

"Red Robin, sir," said the voice of the computer, Jarvis. "Shall I alert Mr Barton that you are awake?"

"Tell him I'll be out in ten minutes," he replied, hearing his voice crack slightly. He splashed water on his face, and drank from a tumbler set out, swallowing his antibiotics. Pulling a decongestant from the arm-belt, he thought of something that'd bothered him last night. "Jarvis, you have cameras in the bedrooms, don't you?"

"Yes sir. The visuals are customarily inactive, unless otherwise specified. I would alert you if they were active."

"But audio is active, so you can hear if someone calls you?"

"Yes, sir. Unless specified, when it is replaced with voice-activated interface."

"Right. Thanks." He'd have to remember to do that in the evening. He sighed, gluing his mask over his face and hiding his puffy eyes. He grimaced, glad for the cold and flu remedies he kept in the belt.

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Clint had gone straight to Red's room when Jarvis called him. When he'd called Fury, he'd been instructed to keep the kid under observation at all times, try and get more information about where he came from, and postpone proper interrogation until the helicarrier was repaired and refitted, and Red was well again. Tasha had gone down to her private training room to work off her irritation at the teen.

Almost exactly ten minutes later, the door opened. Tony had lent Red some normal clothes, and the shirt and pants hung a little loose on his wiry frame. He was wearing his own boots and belt, and his gloves and arm-straps were tucked into his belt. He was carrying his wings rather than wearing them, slung over his shoulder, and was once again masked. "Morning," he said, his voice slightly husky.

"Breakfast?" Clint asked, getting a nod in response. He led the kid down to the kitchen in silence; he didn't know what to say, and Red didn't seem interested in idle conversation. Clint got the impression that they were analysing each other in equal measure.

Red moved gracefully, like Tasha, but seemed more guarded, as though he was aware of how vulnerable he could be, and every move was to counter it (Tasha acted almost invulnerable sometimes). He also behaved like constant surveillance was nothing unusual, the way he'd treated his imprisonment as expected. Clint couldn't help comparing him to Tasha again; where she had always given the slight impression of working for redemption, he acted like he had nothing to prove. Where she seemed perfectly at ease wherever, he behaved as if he already had a place in the world, and was merely biding his time before reaching it.

The only imperfection in his stance was a certain lethargy in his movement. Clint caught him popping a lozenge and smiled; Red caught it, and smiled back, quick and warm.

They were pouring second cups of coffee when Tony tracked them down. "Hey, kid! Where's the wings?"

Red raised an eyebrow, just poking from beneath the mask, and pulled the harness further from Tony's reach. "If you have a workshop, they need a tune-up," he suggested.

"Excellent. I'm sure we can make them much better," Tony said.

"No. _We_ will do nothing. _I_ will fix the damage, and you can watch."

"But I'm really good at the flying stuff. I have video."

"I don't want a jet pack. I want a specialized glider rig. It's more useful if you've been thrown off a roof in an urban area."

"Does that happen a lot?"

"Not a lot, no, but I still find them more useful than I would a jet pack."

"Tony, not everyone likes your style of tech," Clint interjected. "Just let him fix his equipment."

"Where's the fun in that?" Tony pouted.

"It's in not getting killed by having the wrong gear," Red replied, picking up his coffee and slinging the harness over his shoulder again.

Tony led them down to one of his labs, chattering all the while about his research department and the machines he'd filled them with. Red hmm-ed along, but Clint just tuned it out, wishing he didn't have to spend what remained of the morning listening to Tony show off, but Tony was not a suitable babysitter.

As it turned out, he was treated to seeing Red repair his wings, with his own specialized equipment, swatting away Tony's hands whenever he tried to intervene, and still managing to hold an apparently intelligent discussion on flight mechanics, wind impact and such.

After some time, Bruce wandered in. "How did you get the kid in a lab already, Tony?" he asked.

"My gear was damaged," Red answered him. "How do you get Tony to leave you alone without breaking him?"

"I'm not sure you do." Bruce came over to the workbench. "What are you doing?"

"Had to re-sink three left pin-feathers in their moorings. SHIELD managed to yank them out." He snapped the hub closed, and carefully screwed it shut. The trio of Avengers watched as he pulled the harness on, snapped the wings rigid, and then slackened them again. He tweaked a control on the chest piece, and the feather-strips were drawn up into the hub. "Good," Red muttered, satisfied, and started putting away his tool kit.

"I think I can guess how you survived falling out of the helicarrier," Bruce said, slightly impressed.

"Now can we do fun stuff?" Tony practically begged. "I mean, you, kid, you could probably do wonders with some of my tech."

"I have paperwork," Red said flatly. Clint stared at him, Bruce frowned, and Tony looked like someone smacked him in the face with a dead fish. When did he get any paperwork? Picking up on their confusion, Red rolled his eyes. "Case file I meant to write a week ago. No reason why I can't have it ready for filing when I get home."

"But that's boring," Tony said, as though it was obvious. "Why do you want to do something boring?"

The look Red gave Tony said it all. It had to be done, and the sooner the better. Clint always had debriefs and reports after missions, and he knew they were best done within twenty-four hours. Trying to keep the details in mind for a week must be a nightmare.

Red turned to Clint. "Can we find somewhere quieter, and leave Tony to his little toys?"

Clint smirked at the wording. "Sure," he said, and led his charge out.

**AN: Hey! First, thanks to a few of you lovely readers who've given me a bit of help with Red's medical problems. Cheers, guys. 'Course, thanks to the rest of you reviewers, everyone loves feedback. So...who feels like putting a poor authoress out of her misery and reviewing this chapter too, huh? Sound fun?**

**I'm thinking next week I'll be updating Black and Red again, so it'll probably be two weeks before I get back to this. Hope you don't mind. Or just head on over to some of my other stuff. Have fun.**

**Katara Harkness**


	9. Chapter 9: Sick Day

**Little Bird's Vengeance Chapter 9 Sick Day**

"I've seen military reports with less technical detail."

Steve kept reading the report Red Robin was writing over his shoulder. "I dare say you have," the kid replied. "This is how I write my files." He reached out and rummaged through his forensics kit, pulling out a sample bag and checking the label before returning to his notebook. "Mind not reading over my shoulder? It's distracting."

"He's not a fan things being distracting," Tony said from across the room, lounging on a couch. "He keeps going on about it. He should lighten up. There's lots of fun stuff in the lab."

"I can't do your "fun stuff" until I'm done. The more you keep bothering me about it, the _longer it will take_."

Steve looked over at a bored looking Clint. "They've been going on about it for nearly an hour," Clint explained.

"Maybe Tony should stop interrupting," Steve suggested.

Red Robin snorted. "Yup, that'd be nice," he muttered.

"I saw Tasha coming out of the gym looking furious," Steve remarked. "Had an argument?"

"Not exactly," Clint replied evasively. Red Robin let out a half-snort, half-chuckle. Steve looked at him questioningly.

"I think I managed to irritate her somewhat," the teen explained.

"Do you _ever_ sleep?" Clint asked.

"Yes. Very lightly. Do you mind if I get this finished?"

Steve and Clint locked gazes across the room. Steve would have to get the full story later.

"You know, if you don't feel like discussing propulsion systems, we could always-"

Steve would never find out what else Tony could think of doing, because Red Robin cut him off by throwing down his notebook, rising, and stalking out of the room. "Back in a few minutes," he called over his shoulder.

"Hey, where are you going?" Clint said, hopping up and following the teen.

"Kitchen."

They went out of earshot, and Steve looked across at Tony. "What have you been _saying_ to him?"

"I just want him to have fun, that's all," the billionaire playboy pouted.

"I don't think he wants your 'fun'. I think he wants to work," Steve replied, before curiosity overtook him and he scooped up the abandoned notebook. He flicked back a few pages, and skimmed through the report. "Uh Tony? Seems he's been dealing with a murderer who ripped their victims' faces off."

He quickly skim-read through the report, from victim analysis to comparisons to another killer, known as Jane Doe, with apparently the same modus operandi, and the possibility she'd changed location. He shuddered at the thought of the kid having to deal with this sort of gruesome murder at all, let alone multiple times.

"C'mon, seriously?" Tony said. "That's just. That's just nasty. Who'd want to deal with that?"

"Someone who cares more about the fate of other people than their own sensibilities."

Steve twisted around to see Tasha had entered. She looked calmer after her intensive workout, and was carrying a water bottle. She slinked over and sat down.

"What do you mean?" Steve asked, hoping to gain an insight into whatever she'd deduced from their visitor.

"He's gentle. He doesn't like hurting people, for all his ability and defensiveness. You can see it in the way he moves," she explained. "But he's determined. Whatever he sets his mind to, he'll try his best. It's a formidable combination."

Before she could say anything more, Red and Clint returned. Red was carrying a mug of something hot and smelling of lemons, and Clint seemed to be trying to persuade him to rest.

"I really have to finish that report," Red grumbled. He sat down and stared at Steve. He seemed more weary and petulant than angry, but Steve gave him back the notebook anyway. The teen picked up the pen and continued writing.

Steve didn't try to engage him in conversation, anticipating his reluctance. Instead, he kept Tony occupied with a humorous anecdote about Howard Stark and a group of army secretaries. Tony soon lost interest in bothering Red, instead regaling them with stories of his own conquests. That is, until Tasha butted in with the story of how Tony had coerced her into a boxing ring and got a firm butt-kicking.

The kid was apparently ignoring them, but his lips kept quirking in an amused half-smile.

After another half-hour or so, he put down the pen, closed the notebook and put it back into his belt. "Are you going to rest now?" Clint asked pointedly.

Red didn't reply, glowering at him. Clint rolled his eyes.

"You're sick. You need rest."

The teen huffed a sigh. "Fine." He drained his cup and stood. He and Clint left the room, and Steve looked over at Tasha inquisitively.

"He's got a cold, that's all," she explained, shrugging. "That's why he came, he needed somewhere to stay. And why Director Fury's not pressing the matter of him staying here for now."

"Wait, what?" Tony butted in.

Tasha rolled her eyes. "Fury told us to take Red back into custody. He resisted, and offered the alternative of staying here under supervision, and volunteered to speak to Fury if he came here."

"And Fury agreed to that?" Steve asked. It didn't sound very much like the Director.

"No, he just told us to keep an eye on him until he's better, and then bring him back to the helicarrier," Clint answered, returning. He sat down next to Tasha. "Jarvis, can you give us video feed from Red Robin's room?"

"One moment, sir," Jarvis said. After a slight pause, presumably while he asked the kid's permission, a screen flickered into life.

"_-if they want,_" Red was saying, dropping his belt onto the chair by the bed, where he'd already put his wing harness, the arm-belts and gloves. He sat on the bed and started pulling his boots off. "_And then please keep quiet unless it's something important?_"

"_Of course, sir,_" Jarvis said in the other room. The kid scooped up an aerosol can and metal shard from the bedside table, before curling up on the bed, his breathing soon evening out.

"He must be tired," Steve said, looking with pity at the world-lost hero.

"What do you think of him?" Tasha asked.

Steve pursed his lips. "In some ways, he reminds me of the refugees from the Nazi regime. He's alone, he's lost his home, his future is uncertain. But at the same time, he refuses to be helpless, refuses to give in. He's certainly capable. I'd be proud to have him by my side in a fight."

"He's capable of keeping up, that's for sure," Clint shrugged. "We wouldn't have to babysit him in a fight."

"What about you, Tony?" Tasha asked.

Tony was staring longingly at the sleeping boy on the screen- no, not at Red, at the small pile of tech next to the bed. Then he turned around and grinned.

"Can we keep him?"

**AN: And...more interaction time. Cute, no? Please leave a review, tell me what you thought, what you hope comes up, how I can improve if that's what's bothering you. If you have any questions, feel free to ask, review or PM. Nine chapters in, I guess you know the drill.**

**Other than that, not much. If you're bored, check out my other stuff. In particular, there's trouble for Tim in this week's update of Wayne's Boys: Family Ties.**

**Next update next week. See ya.**

**Katara**


	10. Chapter 10: What Do You Think?

**Little Bird's Vengeance Chapter 10 What Do _You_ Think?**

Tim didn't like sleep.

That is, he enjoyed a few hours' rest after a long night of patrolling, if he wasn't too busy, and there had been many times when he'd stumble from the Batmobile his thoughts on nothing but his bed. But the lethargy that settled around him like a warm, heavy blanket after too many long nights, or an injury, or (increasingly) illness, just frustrated him.

He still woke just as promptly.

Pepper Potts was two metres from the bed; she'd stepped inside, waking him (slower than normal, accursed cold) and called his name softly. Tim blinked blearily, rolling over to look at her before sitting up. He glanced at the clock, slightly startled to see it was almost seven in the evening.

"Are you joining us for dinner?" Pepper asked softly.

"Yeah," he replied, his voice cracking. He mentally frowned, sitting up and feeling slightly dizzy. "Excuse me one moment," he said, stepping into the bathroom and splashing cold water on his face. He peeled the mask off, sighing at his still-puffy eyes. As the Avengers would by now all know he wasn't well, he didn't bother replacing it.

Pepper was still waiting for him. "What's your place in the organization?" he asked curiously, thinking of the various people (like Sue Dibney, late wife of the equally late Elongated Man) who provide support for the League, or the Justice Society. "How do you fit in?"

She frowned. "Well, I run Tony's company," she said. "So I guess you could say I help finance the Avengers. But I don't work with SHIELD."

"You don't feel at all threatened by your proximity to superheroes?" he asked, gliding over to her.

"Should I be?" she said, frowning. "By what?"

"Being used as leverage," he explained. "It's happened…a time or two, back home. It's why we're so careful about IDs."

"I'm sure Tony would keep me safe if it became necessary," Pepper replied stiffly, looking a little disgruntled at the seeming attack on her boss.

"That's fine," he replied, shrugging. "I just like to know how everyone stands in relation to everyone else."

"Oh. That actually makes sense."

Tim cocked his head a few degrees. "So what about you and Tony?" he asked, scooping up the spray and batarang left on the bed and picking up his belt to put them away.

"What _about_ me and Tony?" she replied coolly.

He frowned; he could tell they had a little spark, deeper than the normal boss/employee relationship, but whether Pepper was being coy or somewhat oblivious he didn't know. He shrugged. "You look like you'd be a cute couple."

She blushed. Looking down, she half-laughed. "Maybe, but I don't think he's ready to settle down, and I won't be one of his casual flings."

Tim hmm'ed. "Maybe, maybe not. You talked to him?" She shook her head, and he shrugged again. "Ah, well. Guess it's wait and see. What about his teammates? What do you think of them?"

Pepper considered, while Tim cleared the chair, gestured for her to sit and sank down onto the bed. "Well, Steve's very polite," she said. "A real gentleman. The stereotypical army officer, really. He makes me feel safe." Tim nodded, smiling. _So_ like Kal-El. "Thor's…different," Pepper continued. "He acts almost lost sometimes; but he's trying to learn. It often feels like you can sense the storm swirling around him. He's all power and nobility. Bruce is quiet, reserved, he's very aware of how dangerous he could be. He can stay in his lab for ages, and you'd never know he's around. He and Tony talk so much about stuff no-one else can follow. Tasha and Clint are secretive, mysterious, deadly, and quite nice to be around despite that. All in all, I might not have initially chosen to share the Tower with them, but I certainly don't regret it."

"You feel a little out of place, but not such that it's uncomfortable?" Tim suggested.

Pepper nodded. "That's pretty much it. And how about you? What do you think about the Avengers?"

Tim smiled wistfully. "Well, I'd prefer to fight alongside them before making a judgement, but…" He shrugged. "I haven't seen much of Thor. He seems…honourable. A bit vague and out-of-touch, but then, he's a Norse god, it's what I'd expected. Dr Banner I think I could quite like. Believe it or not, the thought of giant green rage monsters don't scare me. I think he's got enough control, just from dealing Tony, that he could get out more. He needs a bit more confidence. Tony, no offense, is very, _very_ irritating. I would not trust him near my gear. I'm so glad SHIELD didn't call him up to look at it straight away." Pepper looked surprised; he waved it away. "He mentioned it earlier. And it makes sense. He's good with tech, but not exactly trustworthy, not to a group like SHIELD. He doesn't know when to step back. He wouldn't get away with it if he wasn't so clever."

Pepper laughed. "I know! Phil used to say…" She trailed off, a still-raw grief stealing over her visage.

Tim frowned, choosing to press someone else later. Clearly a death from the invasion some four months ago that had signalled the formation (or possibly just the revelation) of the Avengers. "He doesn't strike me as especially malicious or anything," he clarified. "Just overbearing. Captain Rogers is, I agree, a perfect gentleman. I have a friend like him, Kansas farmboy and you'd know it. But I wouldn't want to get on the wrong side of either of them. Agents Barton and Romanov are, well, more ruthless, but quite like some of the people I work with closest."

"So an overall positive impression?" Pepper asked.

He considered. "They're people. They have good points, and not so good points. At the moment, I haven't seen anything too bad from them, but like I said, I haven't seen them in combat yet. And no, I don't mind that they're almost certainly listening in right now."

Pepper guiltily glanced at the corner, presumably where the camera was hidden. "I did manage to stop Tony from dissecting your costume," she said, gesturing at the neatly folded black and red suit on the chest of drawers.

"Thank you," Tim replied, grateful for the cleaning. Wearing the same suit for over a week, especially with a short swim in the ocean, had left it in desperate need of a wash. He'd also have to check the security system for damage.

His stomach grumbled; the suit could wait. "You mentioned dinner?" he asked Pepper.

"We're ordering pizza," she told him. "Any particular toppings?"

"As long as it's not olives, I'm fine," he answered, pulling his boots back on and grabbing his belts and gloves. "Do we have to wait for one of the agents, or is one of them waiting for us?"

"I'm waiting," Clint Barton called from the hallway.

"So who do SHIELD think are suitable babysitters?" Tim asked as they made their way to the kitchen.

"Me and Tasha, obviously," he said. "And Captain Rogers. Tony's too unpredictable, Thor we don't want to press, and Bruce and Pepper, well, if you tried to do something…"

"Couldn't stop me, at least not without causing too much damage." Tim shrugged and flashed a quick half-smile at Pepper. "It's fine, I get it. Seriously." Clint still looked a little uncomfortable, so Tim changed the subject. "Does anyone know much about interdimensional travel?"

"I think Tony, Bruce and Thor know a little about it, but only when utilizing either magic, or an object we no longer have access to." Tim raised an eyebrow, but Clint didn't elaborate. "SHIELD does have access to number of scientists with experience in that area."

They reached the kitchen, where the rest of the Avengers were already waiting. "Tony and I did some research to get Thor home after the Chitauri invasion, but it's not either of our specialities," Bruce added.

Tim felt a slight twinge, looking at Dr Banner and remembering his name was Bruce, missing his own Bruce back home. He quickly put the thought from his mind, turning back to the science. "You said you know specialists?"

"Erik Selvig probably wouldn't want to work with us," Tony said. "I think he started looking to go into a new field of study after the Chitauri thing. But didn't he have a co-worker?"

"Jane Foster," Thor supplied. "She may also be unwilling."

"Why's that?" Pepper asked.

"She is…displeased with me," he replied uncomfortably.

"Way I understand it, he kind of stood her up," Tony explained. "Except, you know, with more broken Bifrosts."

"That's not good," Captain Rogers said, wincing.

"Wait a sec," Tim interrupted. "You do know someone who's pretty much an expert, but you don't want to bring her in because of a lovers' quarrel?"

Sheepish nods all round.

"Oh, excellent," he grumbled under his breath. "Almost thought it would be difficult."

**AN: Fluff time! Well, more fluff. I promise, there _is_ a bit of action coming up. Just not yet. Maybe not next week either. Well, next week's Black and Red, so...**

**As always, please review, feel free to ask questions, etc. Love hearing from you all.**

**See you in two weeks.**

**Katara**


	11. Chapter 11: Early Mornings

**Little Bird's Vengeance Chapter 11 Early Mornings**

As was perfectly normal on patrol nights, the day had ended sometime around three in the morning. What was less common was for the night to be spent talking. Tim had managed to keep the Avengers from asking him questions by the simple ploy of asking Tony how he'd become Iron Man. He was fairly sure the two SHIELD agents had worked out his new tactic of using Tony's verbose nature to prevent anyone getting a question for him in edgeways.

Not that there was anything they could do about it.

By midnight, he'd heard the stories of Tony's clashes with the Ten Rings, Stane, Vanko, Hammer, Loki and the Chitauri. Then the exuberant industrialist had gone on to outline the origins of Captain America and the Hulk. It seemed that that was the point where everyone else decided to just go along with story-time. Tim ended up with a lot more data than he thought he would, even if Clint Barton and Tasha Romanov were somewhat cagey about how they'd come to work for SHIELD. Thor, Steve and Dr Banner had been willing enough to share their side of the various stories.

But there was one downside to all the war stories; the unpleasant memories…

Memories manifesting as nightmares, nightmares of blood and loss and pain.

It was not the first time Tim had slept little. Usually, he'd immerse himself in work after he woke up, but he didn't have any. He debated the merits of sneaking out and patrolling New York; get some fresh air, bit of exercise, a feel for the city. But he'd given his word not to slip away from the SHIELD agents. Considering he could be stuck in this world for quite some time, antagonizing the locals wasn't necessarily the best idea.

He sighed, rolled out of bed and reached for his suit. "JARVIS?" he asked to the air.

"Yes, Red Robin, sir?" the presence-less voice said.

"Are Agents Barton or Romanov, or Captain Rogers, awake at the moment?"

"Yes, sir. Captain Rogers woke some ten minutes ago."

"Is there a communications channel I can use to speak to him?"

"Indeed, sir. Connecting you now."

"Hello?" came Captain Rogers' voice.

"Captain? Red Robin. I, uh, couldn't sleep, and your Director Fury doesn't want me wandering around unsupervised…"

"I'll be over in a few minutes," the Captain said.

"Thanks."

He finished dressing, took his pills and waited. In only a short time, a knock on the door announced Rogers' arrival. Tim opened the door, seeing him in exercise clothes and looking newly awoken. "Sorry to disturb you so early," he told him sheepishly.

"I usually get up around now anyway," he shrugged. "Normally I'd have a workout before breakfast."

"Mind if I join you?"

"Sure, if you want. Or how about a spar, if there's two of us?"

Tim grinned. "That sounds wonderful."

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Captain Rogers was strong, and fast. His fighting style made use of that, pushing to land hard, swift blows. But he'd never needed to learn the advanced martial arts Tim and his people relied on. Adapting Dick's particular habit of flips and vaults to staff-combat suited Tim very well against him.

Rogers would probably win in a prolonged fight, he was a meta with increased speed, strength, stamina, but he called a halt after Tim over-extended and pulled his strained shoulder.

"Tony told me you hurt that," he said. "Shouldn't you be more careful with it?"

"Tony can't keep his mouth shut," Tim grumbled. "It's fine; I've fought with worse. It's just a matter of compensation."

"Uh-huh," Rogers said, unimpressed. "And…you're sweating quite a lot, breathing really quite heavily, and you do seem rather flushed."

Tim sat back against the gym wall, scowling. "Yeah, fine, alright," he grumbled. "I guess I'm not quite at my best yet."

Rogers grabbed two bottles of water from a cabinet, and sat down next to him. "It's a very interesting fighting style," he said. "Never seen anything like it."

"Try sparring with Agent Romanov," Tim suggested. "I think she's got a fairly active style. You could do with more experience in complex martial arts."

"You think?"

"Your preferred style is boxing, right?" Rogers nodded, so Tim continued. "That works very well against people of equal or less strength than you, and because your serum stuff made you fast and strong, it's a good style for you. But when I was starting out, pretty much everyone I was up against was stronger, and a lot were faster, too. So my style's much more versatile."

Rogers looked curious. "Do you always use so many flips?"

Tim shrugged. "Yes and no. That's closer to the style favoured by Nightwing- he's kind of like my older brother," he explained. "I imitate his style when fighting our mentor, who's a lot more grounded, more like you. But I use _his_ style when sparring with Nightwing."

Rogers stared at him. "It feels really wrong to be talking to a kid about comparative fighting styles," he said at last.

"It's my life, almost literally," Tim replied. "If I don't know how best to fight anyone I come up against, I'm in trouble."

"You certainly worked out the best way to fight _me_."

"Not necessarily. I'm not entirely sure what the best way to get round that shield is." Rogers looked sceptical. "Seriously, you'd have won fair and square if we'd kept going. I'd have got sneaky if I wanted to win."

"If you say so. Who are those other people you mentioned; Nightwing and your mentor?" Rogers asked casually- too casually.

Tim raised an eyebrow. "That sounds like a question your Director Fury would be asking. How about we wait until he does?"

"You're going to insist, aren't you?" Rogers asked, sighing.

"Yes, actually, I am. I like to keep a lid on sensitive information." Tim was acting very serious, then completely ruined the effect by sneezing loudly.

Rogers looked startled, then concerned. "I forgot you're still sick," he exclaimed. "You should probably go back to bed after breakfast."

"Breakfast sounds great," Tim said, slowly standing up, and feeling unaccountably woozy. "But no bed."

"What? Why?" Rogers asked, standing out as Tim started towards the kitchen. "You need rest."

"Can't sleep. Said so earlier, remember?"

"Why can't you sleep?"

Tim shivered involuntarily at the memory, hoping Rogers would pass it off as a momentary chill. But no such luck.

"You have nightmares, don't you?"

Tim looked side-long at him. "You're a soldier, you know how it is," he answered shortly.

"Yeah. The roar of guns, people dying, fighting. Memories. Fears of what may have been."

"Blood everywhere. Bodies piled up. Powerless. Laughter…"

"Laughter?"

Tim shivered again. "You wouldn't get it, Captain."

"Call me Steve."

He chuckled. "Sure. I'll answer to either Red or Robin, whatever makes you comfortable."

Steve smiled. "Alright. Can we think of something less morbid to talk about?"

**AN: The usual, guys, please review, etc. A few of you had been asking for a sparring scene, honestly can't remember if I was planning this before or after. But, hey, here it is.**

**New chapter next week. See you then.**

**Katara**


	12. Chapter 12: Recovery

**Little Bird's Vengeance Chapter 12 Recovery**

Dr Bruce Banner, physics genius, gamma radiation expert and big green rage monster extraordinaire, was mildly surprised at what he saw when he entered the living room. Steve was watching a baseball game on the TV, remarkable in itself as he hadn't quite figured out how to use an entertainment system far too complicated for a Forties lad yet, and he wasn't good at asking for help finding a game. But next to him, wrapped snugger than a bug in a big fluffy blanket, Red Robin was reading one of the research journal that tended to get left around. Next to him was a steaming mug of a honey-lemon drink. Bruce chuckled. "Still not feeling well?"

Red looked up, showing his red puffy eyes and nose. "No, not really," he replied thickly. "The Captain's insisting on all this." He made a vague gesture at the blanket and drink.

"Well, Steve knows a few things about being sick," Bruce said, smirking at the sudden discomfort he could see on Steve's face. "Before Erskine's experiment, he had a quite a list of health problems."

"So surely he'd know this is completely unnecessary," Red grumbled, and sneezed. Bruce and Steve both squashed amused smiles.

"Well, if you'd go back to bed, you'd probably get better sooner," Steve responded. Red muttered something unintelligible, and squirmed deeper into the blanket.

Bruce sat next to him, putting down his morning coffee next to Red's drink. He glanced at the journal. Surprisingly, it was one of his, rather than Tony's. "Anything you like in there?"

"It's a little beyond me. I don't have much time for research for the sake of it, and I haven't had much need for hard-core particle physics."

"What have you researched?"

"Forensics, mechanical engineering, computer technology, material properties, bit of genetics. Languages. Criminology." Red shrugged. "Even business management. Whatever's needed."

"If you like, we can see about closing that particular gap in your education?"

He flashed a grin, bookmarking and closing the journal. "Why not?"

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By the time Tony arrived, about two hours later, Red had quite expanded his knowledge. The discussion had moved on from the intense run through gamma radiation, past the anti-electron collisions Tony seemed to admire so much, and on to the Tesseract, and what Bruce had been doing to try and understand the data that had been gathered on it during it's time in SHIELD's hands.

"What's up?" Tony asked. "Want to go play in the lab today?"

"No, Tony," Bruce, Steve and Red chorused.

"We're discussing hard physics. You got two cents to add?" Red asked.

"Do I." Tony dropped into another seat, and the conversation took off again.

Out of the corner of his eye, Bruce saw Steve roll his eyes and turn back to the game.

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An hour later, Tasha and Clint came rushing through. "We've been called back to the Helicarrier," Clint said. "We probably won't be back for a while, we're being sent off, don't know where yet."

"Captain, keep Red Robin under your supervision," Tasha instructed.

"Don't worry, I'll behave," Red answered, sneezing again.

"I'm on it," Steve confirmed.

"Good," Clint answered distractedly. "Fury doesn't want us losing him. We'll call when we know when we'll be back."

"Don't crash the Quinjet," Tony called after them as they raced out.

"What were you saying about that new element in Stark's ARC reactor?" Bruce asked Red.

"Oh, yeah." He pulled up a schematic on the holographic computer Tony had brought out. "You said it was discovered after research into these HYDRA weapons? Well, those were derived from the Tesseract, right? So, that ARC reactor's basically the grandchild of the Tesseract. Now, if you were to try applying these properties…"

Once again, the conversation dived deep into theoretical physics.

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Steve was bored. After persuading Red Robin to help him find the sport channel, he'd got lost when Bruce, and then Tony turned up, and the science talk got started. By lunchtime, he was almost wishing for an attack of some sort just to have something to do. In the end, he gave up on trying to listen to the post-game analysis around the science-talk, and persuaded Jarvis to call Thor up.

"Friend Steve?" the thunder god boomed through the room as he entered. "What ails you?"

"A lack of comprehensible conversation," Steve replied.

The other trio looked over slightly guiltily.

Thor laughed loudly. "Ah. 'Twas once a time, my Lady Jane, friend Selvig and friend Darcy did talk so fast, with such unusual words, that despite my best intentions to understand, I was forced to admit defeat and could only hope for a matter more befitting a warrior to arise."

Steve smiled, working through the sentence to get at the meaning. "Well, we're both soldiers, I'm sure we can find something _we_ can discuss."

"I am sure you have many tales from your world war, my friend. There was once a time, myself and the Warriors Three were hunting, and the Lady Sif followed us…"

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The afternoon passed peacefully enough. After dinner, that peace dissolved into domestic dispute, as Steve, Thor, Bruce and Pepper all agreed Red Robin should go to bed, Red protested, and Tony took his side largely for the sake of arguing. The billionaire had quite the air of a sore loser when Steve eventually pulled the teen back to his room.

Next morning, when Steve collected Red for breakfast, the teen was much better, having finally got over the cold. They discussed battle strategy, and Red asked for another spar that afternoon. Steve contacted SHIELD, to be told to keep their guest in the Tower until Clint and Tasha returned.

"Hey, kid!"

Tony swanned into the living room again, looking strangely pleased with himself.

"Yes, Tony?" the other-world teen sighed.

"You're better," Tony announced, as though it was an incredible discovery.

"Yeah, I'd noticed," Red replied slowly.

"Let's go shopping!"

Steve and Red looked at him blankly. "Why?" Red asked.

"Well, look what you're wearing." Red looked down, at the borrowed jeans, shirt and hooded sweatshirt, hanging loosely on his slim frame, with his own belts, harness, boots and gloves beneath.

"So?"

"You really need some clothes of your own."

"Tony, I'm still kinda in SHIELD custody." Red frowned and folded his arms, irritated.

"Your point?"

Tony grabbed Red by the arm and tugged him towards the elevator.

"Stark, he's meant to stay here!" Steve growled.

"Get off!" Red protested.

"No."

Steve got up to stop Tony, and Red tried to squirm out of his grip, but the elevator doors slid shut behind them.

**AN: So, things are starting to happen again. Now taking bets on how long Tim can go without getting sick and/or hurt again. Well, not really taking bets, but you get the picture.**

**Unfortunately for some of you loyal fans, you won't find out next week. Black and Red's getting updated instead, so you'll have to wait two weeks.**

**As always, I love reviews, who doesn't, and I don't mind you asking me questions, although I reserve the right to not answer if you're asking what happens next.**

**Until next time.**

**Katara**


	13. Chapter 13: A Perfectly Normal Day Out

**Little Bird's Vengeance Chapter 13 A Perfectly Normal Day Out**

Tim moved swiftly through the store, trying to finish quickly without losing Tony. Tony, on the other hand, appeared to be trying to examine every piece of clothing they passed, and then convince Tim he needed most of it.

The basket they'd picked up slowly got heavier, as they picked up underwear, three pairs of black jeans and some deep red shirts of various designs. They were heading towards the back, where the shoes were, when Tim stopped in front of some leather jackets.

"You like those, kid?" Tony asked, noticing his interest.

"Not bad," Tim said, admiring the sleek black leather. "A brother of mine would be just a little jealous."

"Get it then," Tony shrugged.

"It's not the cheapest," Tim warned. While he wouldn't have problems asking Bruce to get something like this, Tony wasn't his adopted father.

Tony shrugged again. "So? I have money."

Tim stared at him for a moment, before shaking his head. Stark seemed extremely, almost foolishly (to him) generous, not a bad thing though. Bruce wasn't as outgoing with his money, largely because he directly financed a dozen Batman Incorporated operatives worldwide and contributed to the Justice League. They had a _lot_ of expenses to cover. Money was just another resource in their never-ending Mission.

Tony smirked as Tim selected a jacket and folded it into the basket. "Aren't you going to try it on?" he asked.

"Not with my gear beneath this jumper, no," the teen replied, moving off again.

Ten minutes later, he'd picked out a pair of sneakers (again declining to try them on), and convinced Tony he had enough clothes. On the way to the checkout, he snagged a pair of sunglasses, then paused, and darted to another section of the shop.

"What are you after now?" Tony asked as he caught up.

"It's hard to run with a carrier bag," Tim explained.

"We're running? When?"

Tim selected a large satchel, about the same size as the basket and slung it on his shoulder so it nestled on the small of his back. "Always anticipate trouble. Saves having to adjust when it all goes to hell."

"Does it usually?"

"No, not really." Tony looked confused, and Tim rolled his eyes. "It doesn't _have_ to fall to pieces often, just once." He started heading back to the checkout again.

"Hey, wait!"

Tim wheeled round. "What now?"

"Look!" Tony held up a shirt modelled after his own armour; colored panels exactly replicating the chestplate. "You've got to get this."

Tim looked at it, unimpressed. "Um, no."

"Seriously?! Look, they've got a whole range of stuff." He gestured to the racks of shirts in different sizes, and Tim bothered with no more than the most cursory glance.

"Tony, no. I'm not interested in Avengers merchandise."

"Bet you have loads of these for your heroes back home."

Tim looked at him, wondering how he was so dense. "Walk around with a target on my chest? Um, no thank you."

Tony was staring back at him. "Why would a superhero shirt be a target?"

He just wasn't getting it. "You know, there are people out there who hate us and really want to kill us. And some of them, quite a few actually, are crazy enough to kill anyone stupid enough to show public support for us. I get enough assassination attempts as it is, thank you very much."

"…So no superhero shirts?"

"No. Can we just finish here before SHIELD find us and put me back in that cell?"

"Do you have any sense of fun?"

"Yes, I just keep it tightly restrained, because sometimes, I have these strange urges to stay alive."

"Funny, kid. Real hilarious."

"…I wasn't joking." Tony looked somewhat…disconcerted. _'Might have laid it on a little thick,'_ Tim thought, hoping the playboy would start taking things seriously. Tony was a hero who hadn't had everything come down on him yet; never been forced to go on the run. Hopefully he wouldn't ever have to. His enthusiasm and generosity would surely be dented if he was faced with anything too overwhelming . The life of a vigilante might have given Tim more skills than he could dream of, but in the depths of his mind, he knew he was damaged goods.

A price he was willing to pay to keep saving lives. Whether Tony would, or (possibly) wouldn't, he hopefully wouldn't be called upon to place himself on the line like that.

They finally got through the checkout and back onto the street. Tim put the sunglasses on over his eyes, dropped the carrier bag with the clothes and shoes into the satchel, and swung the strap onto his shoulder. Tony started extolling the virtues of a small café, and Tim let him drag him away, still feeling slightly disturbed at his earlier realisation at just how much the Mission ruled his life.

In the bright winter sun, a warm mug of coffee and a Danish pastry on the table in front of him, it was easier to shrug off the malaise, to sink into the easy conversation about the little gadgets he used; tracers, bugs, comms, his grapple. Of course, Tony kept trying to get back to the wings, but that was _his_ secret, thank you very much. He still kept a wary eye running over the streets, watching.

He noticed a woman, Caucasian, approx. 30-34 years, looking nervous, as though in response to an imminent fear. Tim frowned; either she was a seer, in trouble and needing help, or up to no good. Examining her normal-looking jeans and cream overcoat, he spotted something jutting out, the fabric falling strangely against the bulge on her hip. A firearm.

"Tony," he murmured. "Will you do something for me?"

"Sure, kid," he said lightly. "What?"

"If I tell you to do something, duck, run, whatever, will you do it, no questions, no hesitation?"

"What? Why?" Tony picked up on Tim's urgent tone, and now looked wary.

"Call it a precaution."

"Something's up, isn't it?" Tony leaned in, twisted around, and started trying to follow Tim's line of sight.

"…Maybe."

"Do you look for trouble everywhere?" Tony murmured, relaxing a bit when he failed to see the threat.

"Yes. It's a habit. It generally works." Tim picked up his coffee cup, and raised it to eye level, carefully watching the suspect's reflection in a shop window. He quickly checked all spots where a sniper could have a bead on his suspect, and sighted a few others, none of whom were targeting the woman, and all were waiting for her move, by the look of it. The woman was the lead; the others back-up. A shoot-out in the streets would not be pleasant. Maybe she hadn't seen her target…

Yeah, right.

"Must be useful," Tony said wistfully. "Not having to worry about someone sneaking up on you, 'cause you know you'll always see them coming."

"You kidding?" Tim took a sip and set down the cup. "Always watching. Always worrying. No peace. Stark, I don't watch because it makes me feel safe, I watch because if I don't, I'm _not_ safe. I've spent far too long with a target on my head. Knowing when someone's pointing a gun in your general direction, it's not a habit you want to _need to_ develop."

"What could possibly be wrong with being watchful?"

"Because the only way to get this kind of watchfulness is by- Get down!"

Tim pushed Tony back, flipping backwards himself and slipping his borrowed jumper off. With free access to his gear, he drew his staff, extended it and vaulted over the crowd to the woman, who'd drawn the gun and fired at the table he and Tony had been sitting at. The bullet missed, going into the floor. Someone screamed, and the passers-by seemed transfixed. He crashed into her, knocking her down and disarming her.

Tim knelt on her torso and laid his staff crossways across her windpipe. "Who are you? Why are you trying to kill Stark?"

**AN: Duh duh DUH! So Tony's in trouble, Tim's angsting a bit, and there's trouble ahead. Who is attacking Tony? Will Tim ever get through to Stark about his lifestyle? And where has SHIELD got too; they've been very quiet recently...**

**Tune in next week for our next exciting installment.**

**By the way, kudos to Glimare. The bit about why Tim doesn't wear hero shirts came from her _Where's Robin?_ in the Young Justice cartoon section.**

**As always, please please PLEASE review. Love ya for it. And if you're getting curious about something you don't think I've explained, feel free to ask.**

**See ya in seven days.**

**Katara**


	14. Chapter 14: Target

**Little Bird's Vengeance Chapter 14 Target**

Tony was in shock. Except he wasn't, because he was Iron Man, and Iron Man doesn't go into shock. That's what other people do. No, he was just…startled.

He knew that he was a target. He'd seen that in Monaco, when Vanko trashed his car. He knew there were people who wanted him dead. Stane had been the most surprising example. He even knew there were times when he would be required to sacrifice his life for the 'the greater good', whatever that would turn out to be.

But somehow he wasn't expecting was to be shot at while out shopping.

Red Robin had seen it coming; pushing him back and lunging for the would-be killer. He wasn't sure whether to be grateful, or just plain unsettled by that fact. "Who are you? Why do you want to kill Stark?" the kid asked, kneeling on the woman's chest and pressing his collapsible staff to her windpipe, easing up a little as she spluttered.

"I'll tell you nothing," the woman spat scornfully.

"Wrong answer." Red produced the metal shard Tony had seen him wielding several times, and slammed it point first into the ground by her ear. "Oops. Missed," he said, completely inflection-less and unemotional. "I won't next time. You like piercings? Heard of stretchers? They make piercing holes larger, so you can put thick-rodded earrings in. How would you like to not need them?"

The woman squirmed angrily, and Red shifted his weight so his knees pinned her arms while the main part of his weight was still on her torso. In response, she swore viciously, and Red slammed the shard down again. The woman screamed, blood seeping from her ear. Tony froze for a second (he didn't think the kid would _actually_ do it), then pushed through the dispersing crowd towards the pair. In the distance, he heard the sirens of police cars approaching.

"Want a matching pair? Why are you trying to kill Stark?" Red insisted, lifting the shard so his captive could see the blood dripping from it. She kicked her knees up, and Red twisted, shoving the metal into her thigh. He pulled another shard from his belt, and twirled it enticingly.

'_What. The. HELL!' _Tony screamed inside his head, not knowing what to do or say. How could a _child_ like Red Robin be so…so…brutal? Natasha, or possibly Clint, yes, he could believe either of them using physical violence in an interrogation, but Red was such a sweet kid! Was _this_ what he'd been alluding to, all his talk of having a target on his head for too long? That he'd become as vicious as professional assassins?

"He cost us our jobs!" the woman screamed in confession. "He took everything!"

"Who are you working for? Who with? Where are the others? What are your plans?" Red shot off the questions quickfire, touching the sharp edge of his piece of metal to the woman's face without breaking the skin

She twitched away from the shard. "Justin Hammer. We were the best, top of the game, but Stark had a grudge, and we all lose our jobs and get blacklisted. We have nothing! We will see him dead for all he's done, his infernal meddling." As she spoke of Stark, a deep note of contempt bled into her tone.

Tony was shocked; in equal parts at the kid's brutality, and the woman's confession. He'd…never considered the consequences of his takedown of Hammer on his employees. Nor, it seemed, had he put sufficient thought into what a hard and dirty interrogation actually entailed.

"What were the plans for if you failed?" Red demanded. The metal shard flicked above her face threateningly.

"Hey, kid!" Tony finally reached Red and his captive. "That's enough now."

The policemen also arrived, surrounding them. "Stand down!" one of them yelled, as they pointed their guns at Red.

Red looked up, tilting his head. His eyes were hidden from the world beneath his sunglasses, but he seemed to be glancing all around. He flicked his shard back into his belt, and slammed his prisoner's head into the ground. The policemen's guns clicked as the safety catches were disengaged and another demand for surrender was issued. The teen slowly rose, holding the staff loosely in his left hand, the right out, palm up, to show it held no weapon. But the gloves reaching halfway up his forearms ruined the look somewhat.

"Step away and drop the staff," the same cop commanded.

Tony could see a slightly pensive look crossing Red's face as he nimbly stepped away from his now-unconscious captive. In flash, he spun his staff, pressing on the ends and collapsing it. The policemen yelled, and he froze, the staff now a lightweight cudgel half a foot in length. "Listen, there are more shooters out there," he said softly. "I can deal with them, but I _need_ you to _trust_ me."

He seemed to be speaking to Tony and the cops in equal measure. Tony looked at the younger hero, meeting his eyes despite the sunglasses they both wore. Red appeared to be almost warning him, and deliberately looked towards an upper window nearby. Following his gaze, Tony saw the barrel of a gun protruding. The angle was wrong, but they were still in danger.

"Will you trust me?" Red whispered, locking eyes with Tony again. Tony nodded fractionally, even as the cop butted in.

"Stand down! I won't tell you again."

The kid looked back at him, a tiny smirk playing over his lips, amusement in his eyes despite the situation. "Sorry, not happening," he replied, before lunging down and sideways.

There was a loud bang, and a bright flash. Tony blinked furiously, feeling hands on his waist pushing him back towards the café as the air filled with choking smoke. The push turned to a tug, and Tony could just see the teen hero pulling him away as his eyes streamed from the acrid vapours and he started to cough.

Red pulled him into the café, scooping up his satchel as they went, and through to the kitchen and out the back, moving as fast as he possibly could. "We have to keep moving," he said in an undertone. "And get off ground level. Do you have access to your suit?"

Tony glanced down at his bare wrists. "Um, no, I left the bracelets behind," he admitted. "So…what? Should I call the Capsicle?"

"No time. We'll call for pick-up when we're in the clear. This way." Releasing him, Red led the billionaire down back alleys for a few minutes, replacing his sunglasses with his mask as they went. He came to a halt in an alleyway backing onto a noticeably smaller building. "Take this," Red instructed, handing over his grapple gun. "Remember I told you how to use it? We're going up."

"What about you? You need to hang onto me?"

He shook his head. "Not powerful enough. Go; I'll follow."

Tony paused, fingers in the trigger. Red tapped his gloves, flicking out small hooks on the outside of the wrist, then bent and flicked the toes of his boots, little spikes emerging. He jumped, digging the (climbing) hooks into the wall and jamming the (crampon) spikes into the brickwork.

"Come on," he called back. "We have to go."

Tony zipped up the roof, his shoulder twinging slightly at the effort in pulling him. "How come you're prepared for everything?" he called back.

Just under a minute later, Red reached the rooftop. "I'm only prepared for what we can predict, and what's happened before. Remember that. Pretty much every precaution you'll see me use is to stop something happening _again_."

"Um, right." Whatever the kid was trying to explain, it wasn't sinking in, and with shooters on their tail, it wasn't the time to ask for elaboration. "Which way?"

Red hit the large button on his wing harness, the feather strips spooling out of the mechanism and flowing down his back once more. "They'll expect us to run for the Tower. If we head the other way, we'll probably lose some of them."

"Sure. How?"

"Pretend to be a pendulum."

Red Robin jumped, using his climbing hooks to pull himself up to a taller building, and Tony followed with the grapple. It was a lot more effort than flying, pulling on his shoulder joints with each swing. He could see Red's muscles tensing and flowing with each move he made, but despite the extra effort he was expending, he move swiftly and easily. When they were both on the next building, Red nodded tersely and jumped off the edge, flaring his wings out until he hit the side and dug his hooks in. Tony swung after him, crashing inelegantly and having to retract the cord, wincing. Several buildings later, he started to get the hang of it. As they kept going, from building to building, across streets and alleyways, Tony felt a slight thrill.

A thrill quickly squashed, when he glanced back and glimpsed another gun barrel, trying to get a bead on them.

**AN: Excitement! Will they get away, or will they be shot? Well, I suppose it's not _terribly _difficult to guess. But has Cap done anything about Tony running off with Tim? Find out; in two weeks.**

**Red and Black update alert; if you come here next week, you'll be a little disappointed.**

**I'd also like to thank all you reviewers, whether you're saying nice things (it's very encouraging) or offering constructive criticism (it's very useful). I'd like to make a special mention for Luzith. I don't think you noticed, my friend, but you wrote "assignation attempts", instead of "assassination attempts". Yeah, I know, quick typo, but...I've always thought of the word "assignation" as pertaining to seduction. You made me laugh. Thank you very much.**

**Be back in a fortnight.**

**Katara**


	15. Chapter 15: Pursuit

**Little Bird's Vengeance Chapter 15 Pursuit**

Without the Iron Man armour, Tony Stark was a civilian. He was still a hero, sort of, but there were two components. Heart and body; mind and strength; desire and ability. For the time being, all his strength and ability was tied into the suit. He'd work it out, sooner or later, but unless he managed it in the next five seconds or so, Tim would call him 'civilian' and proceed with normal practise.

First, get the civilians out of danger. Then, only then, take out the targets.

There were three gunmen directly behind them, two approaching from the right, only one from the left. It was hard to outpace them, with Tony using the grapple, and his shoulder on fire from the strain of gliding and climbing. But what was worrying was the distribution; the numbers, and direction. They were being pushed onwards, but not quite straight forward. They were being herded.

And they had picked up a shadow, a figure he'd spotted twelve blocks back, pacing them exactly, matching their course perfectly.

They'd have to lose their pursuers quickly, before the shadow decided to join in.

"Tony, listen," Tim said, pulling himself up onto another roof and sprinting across, the billionaire following. "When I say now, I want you to jump backwards, fall for three seconds exactly, then zip back the way we came two blocks. Then go due south, until I catch up again."

"But why-?"

"I'll explain in a minute, just do it!" Tim snarled. They _had_ to break the herding pattern, and couldn't spare the time to talk.

"I-"

"_NOW!_" Tim ordered, throwing a small pellet at a metal vent outlet. It exploded, and he pulled up a large-ish sheet as his pursuers opened fire. After a second or two of sheltering from the bullets, he grabbed a handful of twisted metal fragments and threw them. The gunfire ceased; the bits of metal disarming the would-be killers. Seeing the temporary success, Tim took off after Tony.

Tony had paused three rooftops away. "What the hell was that?" he demanded.

Tim rolled his eyes, not that Tony could see it behind the mask, and sighed. He pulled out his comm and spare, activating both and throwing one over. "Talk on the go," he said, slipping on his headset and jumping off for the next roof.

_"What's happening?"_ Tony asked again.

"Your killer has friends," Tim started heaving himself up, turning his head to beckon the older hero on. "They're pushing us in a certain direction. If we don't break the pattern, we'll go straight into an ambush."

_"But-"_

"We're vulnerable," Tim cut off, exaggerating slightly (he didn't feel particularly vulnerable himself) to better ensure Tony's cooperation. "We have to shake pursuit before we can plan a counter-attack. And there's an unknown on our tails as well. Really want to get away from that, or at least confront it separately."

Tim was breathing heavily; the remains of his illness and the exertion of repeatedly climbing wearing him out. _"I wanna see this unknown,"_ Tony told him.

"I'll see," Tim answered, pushing onwards, trying to find somewhere they could watch without being at risk.

_"No, just tell me where it is."_

"Hold on!" Tim growled. "And don't stop moving."

Spotting a likely position, he jumped, wings flaring out, turning and flipping onto the roof and rolling behind a power outhouse. A moment later Tony joined him. "One hostile left…" Tim mused. He picked up a small rock, watched the gunman approach, and threw. The rock dropped him, leaving a mark on his forehead.

Tim straightened up, carefully stepping out, watching the moving shadow. Behind him, he heard Tony's scuffling footsteps as he emerged. The shadow detached itself, jumping down to join them and resolving itself into a Caucasian male, late twenties, blond hair, navy jumpsuit, several black holsters and a pair of drawn handguns. Tim kept his emotionless façade in place as he matched the outfit and the attitude. "SHIELD."

"Hey, an agent!" Tony exclaimed, "Which one are you?"

"Red Robin," the agent said. "Stand down and step away from Mr Stark."

Tim ignored him, focusing on something on the ground. They were only a dozen floors or so up by this point, so he could see the people below as more than mere specks. More man-shaped blobs with rifles on their backs and an oil drum between them. An oil drum with a detonator on top. Heading towards the fire escape. Damn.

He pulled his staff out and re-extended it. The agent focused his guns, safeties clicking off. "Drop it," he ordered.

"Back in a sec," Tim muttered, distracted, fed up, just wanting it _over_ already. He flipped backwards.

There were two gun shots, and Tim felt a white hot poker go straight through his left thigh, and another stop in his right shoulder. His eyes went wide behind his mask, lips unconsciously forming obscenities as he concentrated on supressing the pain and controlling his descent. He landed in a crouch, pain rippling from the wounds as he realised (from the surprise on his opponents' faces) that it was the SHIELD agent who'd shot him. Looking at the two men and their makeshift bomb, he lost any sympathy he may once have had.

"Right, then," he said, making himself sound as irritated as humanly possible (easy, considering how annoyed he was over the bullets). "You two are gonna drop the rifles, step away from the bomb and answer swiftly and truthfully any question I ask. In return, I will try not to hurt you too much. How does that sound?"

They levelled their rifles at him.

"Idiots," Tim muttered, flicking the staff out and sweeping their feet from under them. He stomped on the first guy's face, breaking his nose as knocking him out, then hauling up the other one, shoving him against the wall and drew a batarang, the staff falling to the ground. "Try that again and I'll do what I did to your lady friend out in the street." He paused, trying to clear his head of the pained fog trying to consume it. "What the hell were you guys thinking anyway? You're tech developers; what's with the guns and IED?"

The man squirmed for a moment, Tim's grip increasing until he fell still. "You have no idea," he snarled. "We have nothing to lose. Why shouldn't we play our part?"

Tim frowned, thinking through the implications of his captive's words. Then he worked it out. He slammed his fist down, angling the batarang so the point of it rested on the man's cheek. "Who are you working for?" he demanded. "What's your goal? Who's plan is it?"

"Stark!" the man gasped. "We will ruin him. I don't know who's plan it is, we worked with a third party."

Tim withdrew the batarang, and the man sagged with relief. "There will be more questions later," Tim whispered, leaning in close. "If you don't answer truthfully, no matter who's asking, I'll make sure you wish you had. Understood?"

The man nodded wildly. Tim pulled out his Batspray and gave his captive a healthy dose. He dropped his unconscious body, and turned to face his audience on the fire escape.

"S'ppose you'll want your own interrogation," he said. "They should be malleable." He stepped over to the bomb, examined it briefly, and yanked the detonator out. All the threats neutralised, he relaxed his mental defences, and near-collapsed from the renewed pain of his bullet wounds. The neglected injuries throbbed, clamouring for attention. He hissed, and leaned against the wall.

"Going to come quietly now?" the unknown agent asked wryly. He still hadn't holstered his guns.

"Not sure I've got a lot of choice at this point," Tim gasped. He sheathed his batarang and bent to scoop up the dropped staff.

"Not a lot, no."

**AN: So we're finally approaching the scene a number of you have been waiting for, Tim's interrogation by SHIELD, but we don't get to find out who's behind the attack yet. Hmmm. Is this perhaps taking too long?**

**All reviews, questions, more than welcome. Other news, in the Wayne's Boys series, it's back to Family Ties, and the Bats are getting ready for something big.**

**Next week, can Tim escape from SHIELD? Does he want to? Has the thought even crossed his mind? Will Fury turn him into a hamster? (Probably not on that last one...)**

**See you then.**

**Katara**


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